


Game Night

by Karalora



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Amputation, Animal Attack, Bats, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Body Melding, Carnivorous Plants, Combat, Coughing, Darkness, Decapitation, Drowning, Electrocution, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Face Punching, Fainting, Falling Danger, First Aid, Friends attacking friends, Ghosts, Giant Spiders, Giant leeches, Grief, Grouchiness, Head Injury (mild), Horror, Huge Snake, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Incorrect first aid, Life-Force Extraction, Lightning - Freeform, Major Character Injury, Math, Mild Language, Mind Control, Monsters, Multi-Headed Monsters, Panic Attacks, Philosophy, Poisoning, Resurrection, Self-Mutilation, Skeletons, Spider Webs, Spiders, Thunderstorms, Trapped in a video game, Vampires, Werewolves, Zombies, berserker violence, breath-holding, copious amounts of blood, magical healing, memories turning bad, monster torn apart by other monsters, more leeches, reliving bad memories, room filling with water, vampire bats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2019-09-25 06:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 49,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17116448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karalora/pseuds/Karalora
Summary: After playing an intense video game all day, Thomas dreams about it so vividly that the Sides are trapped in the dream! How will they get out of this predicament?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story is obviously somewhat inspired by “HORROR VIDEOGAMES Through the Ages!!”, but _Stygia's Towers_ is a fictitious game of my own devising. If it bears an uncanny resemblance to any game with which you might be familiar...that is intentional. It's meant to be the most generic possible example of its kind.

Thomas Sanders brushed his teeth, and armed warrior skeletons grinned back at him from the bathroom mirror. He dropped his dirty clothes in the laundry hamper, and they landed with the same slithery noise as the Vampire Lord's patagia collapsing after he killed it. The bedroom light flashed on and off like the artificial moon spell that controlled the werewolves. His bedsheets rustled in harmony with a swarm of demonic rats charging down a darkened corridor.

Man, that had been  _fun_ .

It had started with a simple idea: an all-day livestream event. Thomas and Joan had come up with a short list of possible activities for such an event and polled the viewers to decide which to use. “Real-time video game playthrough” had won by a  _landslide_ . 

The game they had settled on, with heavy input from Talyn, was  _Stygia's Towers_ , a PC game in the horror-adventure genre with solidly mediocre reviews. The concept was derivative, the gameplay could be charitably described as “stripped-down Legend of Zelda,” and the enemy designs were stylistically inconsistent. (The graphics themselves, it was agreed, were pretty okay.) But it fulfilled two important requirements: it was horror- _adventure_ , meaning it would be scary enough to put Thomas in an entertaining state of subcritical alarm without actually upsetting him too badly...and the average completion time for a first-time player was about six to seven hours—ideal for the planned event.

Also, the final boss was called the Dragon Lich. That alone might have been enough to tip his decision, it was such a fantastic and hilarious coincidence. He still chuckled, thinking about it. They'd had to look up what a lich actually was.

The final boss...

Thomas snuggled into his covers, getting comfortable, hoping sleep wouldn't be too long in coming. His mind was buzzing, reviewing the day. He'd rarely had such a blast doing a video project. Once they got past a few technical hiccups early on, the whole thing ran as smooth as cream cheese. Camden was settling into the team well, and Joan and Talyn had done a fantastic job of monitoring the viewer comment feed and passing along any remarks that were sufficiently funny, helpful, or just plain sweet. And  _Stygia's Towers_ , for being a C-list knockoff sort of game, had been pretty fun. That  _adventure_ word made all the difference—it meant that the player-character, instead of being a pathetic schmoe getting smacked around by the forces of darkness...was a reasonably competent, modestly powerful schmoe getting smacked around by the forces of darkness. On which subject, they had left the living room lights on for this one, so, y'know.

It had been so much fun that he had let the event run late and then ordered pizza for the team after they finally signed off. He would have to make sure to clean up the boxes and napkins first thing in the morning, but for now...

_Dang_ , that had been great. Thomas was already thinking about doing another at some point.

If only that final boss hadn't been such a pain...

_I'm going to dream about that game all night, aren't I...?_ He thought.

Lights out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Virgil started awake, feeling rough stone underneath him instead of his memory foam mattress. He lurched up into a sitting position and looked around himself with jerky motions, all sensors on high alert. After a moment, the alarm subsided into a more familiar level of general unease.

Everything was gray stone, grim skies, creeping threads of fog, uncanny wailing sounds just on the edge of hearing...and that subtle, impossible-to-describe  _feeling_ that let him know exactly where he was.

He'd been pulled into Thomas's dreamscape. Again.

“Dammit, Roman...” Virgil muttered. He did a quick-change from his pajamas to his usual daytime outfit, heaved to his feet, and stomped off in search of the one whose fault this definitely was.

 


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yep...they're stuck all right. Now what?

Roman skewered yet another rat on the end of his sword, grimacing. It wasn't that he was upset about killing it. It wasn't a real live rat, or even a villainous cartoon rat like the one in  _Lady and the Tramp_ . It was a nasty corrupted video game rat—no, a  _dream_ of a nasty corrupted video game rat—and it puffed away into greasy black smoke when it died, and that was what made him wrinkle his nose in distaste.

It didn't leave any loot either. He was starting to suspect he had bumped into some sort of hard limit regarding what he could glean from killing enemy creatures in a single area. The rats—and venomous lizards, and black slimes, all trifling monsters typical of the genre—kept respawning while he wasn't looking directly at them, but this one made the thirteenth in a row that he had dispatched without a rewarding loot drop. All the outer pockets of the satchel that the dream had thoughtfully equipped him with were full, so maybe that was it.

“Roman! There you are!” barked a familiar voice. “I've been looking all over this place for you!”

“Virgil? What are you doing here?” Roman demanded as the other Side came striding out of the fog. “You know what your presence in the dreamscape tends to do to Thomas's sleep patterns, and I think _this_ dream can do a fine enough job of that without your help.”

“I woke up here, genius. You made this one too strong and it pulled me in. I need you to let me out.”

“Done and done!” Roman said with a typical flamboyant gesture. He raised his sword and turned slowly, looking for a seam to slash open so Virgil could squeeze out to a less sensitive part of the mindscape.

But he couldn't find one.

“It doesn't usually take this long, does it?” said Virgil.

“Forgive me, but I seem to have outdone myself here. I don't often manage to make them this consistent...I can't find any weaknesses to exploit. I'll have to open the dream from outside. Sit tight, Virgil, I won't be a moment.” Roman prepared to sink out of the dream himself.

That didn't work either.

He tried again. No luck.

He shot a worried look at Virgil, who cocked an eyebrow. “Trouble, Princey?”

“Now, don't panic, Virgil...”

“Don't panic? Did you forget who you're talking to?”

“...but I can't seem to leave either.”

Virgil visibly bristled with alarm. “How can  _you_ not be able to leave a dream? Isn't this, like, your whole thing?”

Roman sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It's complicated. I'd love to tell you all about how dream construction works, but right now we have more important things to worry about...like finding Patton and Logan.”

“You think they're here too?”

“If the dream sucked you in, it probably got them as well. We should find them before it gets to them too badly.” He began walking purposefully, gesturing to Virgil to follow.

It was no idle concern. Logan almost always hated being in the dreamscape, where he had next to no power. He likened it to dyslexia, but for  _everything_ , not just written language. Patton loved a good romp in a pleasant dream, but this...this was not that. This was  _Stygia's Towers_ , or something based very closely on it. It was rated M for “realistic intense violence and horror thematic elements throughout.”

“Virgil,” he said, “how long were you looking for me?”

“Not that long...ten minutes, maybe?”

“That's actually somewhat encouraging. If you found me that quickly, then maybe the other two also found each other. I'd hate for either of them to be alone in a place like this.”

“Shouldn't we call out to them or something?”

“I wouldn't. If this dream is as much like Thomas's game as it seems to be, loud noises will attract the wrong kind of attention.”

Virgil bristled some more. He was holding it together pretty well, but the whites of his eyes were already showing all around the irises.

The area they were in strongly resembled the opening tutorial stage of the game, which took place in a courtyard between the four eponymous towers. The space was broken up by gruesome statues, planters filled with suspiciously carnivorous-looking shrubs and twisted, leafless trees, and fountains spewing fetid water infested with those black slimes. Everything was constructed from or paved with the same grimy gray stone, and between that and the clumps of dismal fog that drifted through the area, navigating with any confidence was virtually impossible.

In the game, there was a map with a blinking arrow. After the player spent enough time stabbing rats to decide they had the hang of the mechanics, they could use the map to make a beeline for one of the towers.

“I don't suppose you have a map of this place on you, do you?” said Roman.

“Where would I have gotten a map?” asked Virgil.

“Stumbled across one while looking for me, maybe?”

“Sorry to disappoint y— _jeez_!” Virgil jumped to one side as something scuttled over his foot. “What was that?”

“A lizard, I think,” said Roman. “I've killed six of them so far, and gotten three scales and one venom gland. And four rat teeth. And two vials of black slime.”

Virgil stared at him in disgusted surprise.

“From the game's crafting system, remember? Thomas had to pick up things like that from defeated enemies to create helpful items and empower spells.”

“And you're going along with it?”

“Well, what else should I do?”

“I dunno, _not_ collect dead animal parts?! It's gross!”

Suddenly there came a shout from some distance away. “Ahoy! Virgil, Roman, over here!”

“Logan?” Roman called. “Is that you? Keep talking so we can find you!”

“But not too loudly,” said Virgil in an oddly strangled tone: trying to shout without shouting.

“Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium, boron, carbon...” Logan recited, his voice projecting through the gloom. It took a few minutes of detouring around planters and tripping on missing paving stones, but Virgil and Roman zeroed in on Logan's location. He was sitting quite calmly on a statue that seemed to have toppled from its pedestal, making an ersatz bench.

Patton was with him, but it was no wonder that Logan had been doing all the talking. The moral Side had his arms wrapped around the other, face buried in his shoulder, trembling violently. And Logan was just  _tolerating_ it, which meant he had to be pretty rattled himself even if he wasn't openly showing it.

The two of them were wearing their signature onesies, but then they  _had_ presumably been sleeping.

“Patton!” said Virgil, crouching so he could put a reassuring hand on his knee. “Hey. I'm here. You wanna talk to me, buddy?”

“I don't like it here,” Patton replied, muffled by Logan's fuzzy unicorn pajamas.

“I know. Roman sure effed this one up. But it'll be okay—we'll find the way out somehow.”

“Hey!” Roman protested. “It's not my fault! I have to work with whatever pops up from the subconscious, and the game was the _only_ thing on Thomas's mind when he fell asleep!”

Logan perked up somewhat. “Please elaborate, Roman. I have always been curious about the mechanisms of dream production. It's a poorly understood field of study.”

“I don't exactly have a Powerpoint presentation handy, you know...”

“Come on, Roman,” Virgil teased. “You _said_ you wanted to talk about it, but not before we found Logan and Patton. Well, we found them.”

Roman sighed, rubbing his temple. “I make dreams out of whatever bobs to the top of Thomas's subconscious when I stir it. It's a lot like...well, it's a lot like your hoodie, Virgil. There are a few different frameworks I can start with, and then I graft on stray thoughts to patch the gaps until I have something Thomas's sleeping mind will recognize. It's usually a lot of work.”

Virgil pulled at his sleeves, suddenly self-conscious. “So what's going on here?”

“Well, most dreams are patchworks, right? Made out of different things from different sources. That's why they tend to ramble the way they do. And anywhere two different elements join up, I can just pull out the stitching, so to speak, and _voil_ _à_ , an exit. But sometimes, when Thomas is preoccupied with something, everything I get relates to that particular thing. Usually it's a _good_ thing—less work for me to put it all together, and the resulting dream is _much_ more polished. More like a real story. It's just that this time...it's an ugly, scary story. And it's _so_ coherent that there aren't any seams for me to open.”

Patton raised his head. His eyes were free of any redness or puffiness that would indicate recent crying, but it likely wouldn't take much to push him over that edge. “So what do we do?”

“We have a couple of options,” said Roman. “Option One: Sit tight and wait for Thomas to wake up. At that point, the dream will simply _pop_ and everything will be Gucci. The downside is that it will probably take several hours and we'll be at the mercy of whatever this place throws at us in the meantime. Option Two: We explore and look for a hidden exit. Even these really vivid dreams sometimes have something weird tacked on that we could use as a back door. But that's very iffy.”

There was quiet for a moment, as they all mulled things over. Then Logan spoke up. “I have a proposal.”

“Go on,” said Roman.

“This dream isn't _just_ coherent...it's close to being a carbon copy of _Stygia's Towers._ Perhaps, rather than seeking more conventional methods of escape, we should attempt to...play through it?”

“You mean...act in the role of Ammareth the Alchemist? Go through all four towers, beat the bosses, collect the tokens, and face off with the Dragon Witch?”

“It was Dragon _Lich_ ,” Logan reminded him, “but...essentially, yes. You said that consistent dreams tend to behave more like stories, and of course _Stygia's Towers_ contains a narrative of its own—a rather hackneyed one, but it does include satisfying narrative conventions. Perhaps the way out...is through.”

“A fascinating idea!” said Roman. “I've just been dithering around impaling small monsters, but your plan is much better! A quest!”

“ **No** ,” said Virgil, the panic-resonance creeping into his voice. “Absolutely not. We are not trying to play heroes in this deathtrap of a setting. We're going with Option One. We'll find a defensible spot and fend off the rats and lizards until morning.” He wrapped an arm around Patton and pulled him close, as much for his own comfort as the other Side's.

“But Virge...” Patton said. “I thought you said we'd find the way out.”

Virgil blinked, suddenly conflicted.

“Besides,” Patton added, “what if Thomas is experiencing this as a nightmare? Shouldn't we try to get out so Roman can shut it down and make something nicer for him?”

Virgil sighed. “You got me there. Gotta think of our main man. Okay, so what's the plan?”

“I...hadn't gotten that far yet,” Logan admitted.

“No time like the present,” said Patton, rubbing the corner of first one eye, then the other with a plush onesie-paw.

“First things first,” said Roman. “You two are not going _anywhere_ dressed like _that_.”

“Of course,” said Logan, shifting into his polo and slacks.

“Not what I had in mind, Teach.”

Logan raised an eyebrow.

“What kind of aesthetic is... _that_ ,” Roman said, gesturing at the sensible business casual ensemble, “for someone about to embark on a grand adventure?”

Logan adjusted his glasses. “I have no intention of allowing you to dress me like Ammareth the Alchemist, if that's what you're suggesting.”

“Merciful heavens, no! That character design is like the secret lovechild of a Renaissance Faire and a KISS concert! I just think that if we're going to do this, I mean really _do this_ , we should all look the part! Like so!” Roman spun around once, and as he did so, the colors of his outfit flickered and settled somewhere new: dove-gray and maroon, rather than white and bold red. The gold braid vanished from his tunic, but he had the addition of a short cloak the same wine-red shade as the sash, with gold embroidery along the edge, making the outlines of leaves and flowers. The satchel hung at his left hip, its strap following the line of the sash.

“That just looks like your normal outfit,” said Virgil. “Not very _creative_ , if you ask me.”

Roman was unfazed by the barb. “I'm  _ always _ suited up for adventure. I just needed to mute my natural brilliance a tad so as not to clash with the setting.”

“Hm,” Logan said non-committally. “Your point about not clashing with the setting is well taken. When in Rome...”

“Do as _Roman_ do!” Patton piped up, noticeably relaxing now that they were addressing their predicament. “I think it looks spiffy! Do me next!” He hopped up off the statue and spread his arms, grinning.

Roman beamed with gratification. He hesitated for just a few seconds, gesturing with his index fingers as if drawing in the air, and then snapped with both hands. Patton's onesie seemed to melt, flowing into the shapes of tunic and breeches, clear analogues of his usual polo and khakis. In place of his cat-eared hoodie, he had a hooded cape, still with cat ears, and a frog closure shaped like paws. It was trimmed in a kind of fringe, which slightly resembled fur without giving anyone the idea that animals had died to make it. The blue of the tunic was less bright than usual for Patton, but more noticeable was the incongruous forest-green sash that tied it off at the waist.

“Green?” said Virgil.

“Why not?” said Roman.

Patton twirled, admiring his new getup. “I'd say it makes for an  _ evergreen _ fashion statement!”

“Two puns in as many minutes. Does this mean you're feeling better, Patton?” asked Virgil.

“I'm gettin' there, kiddo.”

“I suppose it's my turn,” said Logan. “Please...nothing too ornate or conspicuous.”

“Would it kill you to embrace fun once in a while?” said Roman, but there was no venom in it. He made an almost negligent throwing gesture with one hand, and Logan's attire abruptly changed. He received another variation on the tunic-and-breeches combo, though his tunic was longer than the other two, falling just below his knees. Rather than a cape or cloak, he had an ankle-length robe, worn open, with sleeves that would have been impractically billowy had they not been cuffed at the wrists. It was all done in deep blues, shading to black—literally in the case of the robe, where Roman hadn't been able to stop himself from including an artsy ombre effect.

“It will suffice,” said Logan. “Actually, I rather like the scholarly connotation of the robe. Is the edging brocade?”

“Jacquard-woven,” said Roman.

“Very nice.”

“All _right_!” said Roman, clapping his hands. “Virgil, you're up!”

“No,” said Virgil.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said no. No goofy fantasy costume for me. I'm good.”

“Awww, why not? The rest of us are doing it.”

“Peer pressure, Princey? That's not cool. Don't worry...if I change my mind later, I'll let you know.”

“I might not be able to do it later...” Roman muttered.

“Oh? Why not?” asked Logan.

Roman made a moue. “How to put this...once we fully embark on the quest, the dream's rules might be...locked in. The protagonist of  _ Stygia's Towers _ can't conjure devastatingly stylish outfits...or do a great many of the other things we are accustomed to doing in the Mindscape. On the other hand, we can probably expect to develop new abilities as we progress, so it's a trade-off.”

“Whatever,” said Virgil. “I still don't feel any burning need to play dress-up with you guys.”

“At least allow me to equip you with a weapon. I've a feeling we're going to need them,” said Roman.

“Ooh, I hope not,” said Patton, bringing his hands up under his chin.

“Patton, we are almost certainly about to tour the plot of a horror-adventure video game,” said Logan. “Some violence will probably be unavoidable.”

“Nnnnnnnnnnnn...” Patton groaned.

“Are you changing your mind about this?” said Virgil.

“No, I just...I don't think I can fight. Not for real. Maybe if the monsters are weak against pillows and snowballs...”

“You should have _something_ to defend yourself,” said Roman. “How about this?” He waved his hand and was suddenly holding a polished quarterstaff. “You can use it as a walking stick and only smack the monsters if they get too close.”

“Yeah, that sounds okay,” Patton agreed, taking it.

“I think I'm more of a knife guy,” said Virgil. “Good for close quarters.”

“And given my own aptitudes,” said Logan, “I think the optimal choice for myself would be a projectile weapon whose operation necessitates little in the way of upper-body strength.”

“Did...you just ask for a _gun_?” said Virgil, squinting lopsidedly.

“Of course not. Although primitive firearms were in use by the end of the medieval period—”

“Oh, here we go,” Roman grumbled.

“—I am aware that by contemporary worldbuilding standards they are usually considered to violate the aesthetic of pseudo-medieval fantasy.”

“If he starts challenging me on fantasy period aesthetics...” Roman continued.

“Actually, what I had in mind was a crossbow.”

His rant cut short, Roman smiled broadly and produced the requested items with a flourish. “And I of course will retain my sword. We've been through a lot together and we understand each other.”

“That makes no sense; a sword is not a sentient being,” said Logan.

“Hey, Roman! You should also conjure some normal, useful things! Like snacks for later!” said Patton. “Or...a rope! In case we have to climb a wall or enter a rodeo!”

“That makes no sense either,” said Logan. “A rodeo event would be _entirely_ out of theme for this setting. Please tell me this conversation is not going to devolve into pure nonsense.”

“Well, I had this when I arrived here,” said Roman, unshouldering the satchel. “I haven't looked through all the pockets yet, but it's too heavy to be empty.”

“Haven't you been putting your vulture stuff in there?” said Virgil.

“My... _what_ stuff?”

“The gross stuff you've been picking off dead lizards,” the anxious Side continued. “Vulture culture. It's a thing. Google it once we get out of here.”

“ _I_ am _not_ a _vulture_! Vultures hang out with the nastiest of villains!”

“Can we please get back on topic?” said Logan. “I think it would be prudent to investigate the contents of the satchel, have Roman see if he can conjure other supplies to meet our projected needs, and get this quest officially underway.”

No sooner had he spoken than lightning crackled overhead, followed by a drawn-out peal of thunder. “Wasn't me!” Virgil said automatically. A series of gusts of wind swept the courtyard, dispersing the fog and revealing to the Sides, for the first time, the four towers at the corners of the space: Stygia's Towers.

“I think,” Roman said slowly, “that the quest _is_ officially underway. As of right now.”

 


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The adventure gets underway! And wastes no time at all before becoming dangerous and disturbing.

Nothing else happened—at least not immediately—except that the vague, unintelligible whispering and wailing noises that had stayed safely in the background so far, instantly became noticeably louder and more penetrating. Virgil gritted his teeth and put up his hood.

“My recommendation stands,” said Logan, a _slight_ wobble in his voice. “Let's get an accurate inventory of our resources before we do anything else.”

“Have at it,” said Roman, tossing him the satchel.

Logan lifted the top flap and immediately brightened. “Aha! A book!”

“What? That wasn't there before!” Roman protested.

“The game hadn't really started before,” Patton pointed out. “Besides, if you were a book, wouldn't you want to wait to start existing until you found someone who would love to read you?”

Logan slung the satchel over one shoulder so that both hands would be free to flip through the slim leather-bound volume. “There's a map here,” he said, “but it's incomplete. Not much is labeled.” He closed it again and read the cover. “'Being A Guide To The Dark Realm Of The Dragon Lich Stygia.'”

“Guide?” said Virgil. “As in, a game guide? Is the dream just giving us all the secrets to getting through it?”

Logan had resumed paging through the book. “If so, it's not very forthcoming. There's hardly anything in here. A few small illustrations and accompanying blocks of text, but most of the pages are basically blank.”

“Is there a difference between 'basically blank' and...blank?” said Virgil. “Let me see that.”

Logan held up the open book so that they could all see. It was just as he had described—the two visible pages contained, between them, exactly one small image near the left-hand margin, and a few lines of handwritten text to its right. However, the rest of the space was filled with vague silhouettes, almost like discolorations in the paper except for their regularity: small blobs in a column on the left, and wider, more rectangular blobs on the right. They lined up, in fact, with the one picture and text, as if they had once represented more of the same but had long since faded into mere shadows.

Or, possibly, _hadn't come into detail yet_.

“It's not a guide,” said Roman, snatching the book away and turning a few more pages, “it's a _log_. Thomas kept pulling up a screen like this while he was playing, remember? And as he found different things, the entries would be filled in.”

“Oh, right, that thing,” said Virgil, sneering. “Sucks to be us, I guess. We need to know where we're going, and this book will tell us...everywhere we've already been.”

“I don't remember this,” said Logan. “Why don't I remember?”

“You were pretty distracted most of the time,” said Patton. “Thomas only really needed you when there was a puzzle to solve.”

“Fair enough,” said Logan. “So what _has_ already been filled in?”

“So far?” said Roman, turning pages. “The handful of monsters I've already faced, and the items I got from them. Oh, hey, our weapons are in here!”

“SPEAKING OF WHICH!” Virgil barked, pointing behind Roman, where a rubbery black mass was suddenly rearing up over the prince's head. Roman whirled around, dropping the book, but before he could draw his sword, the amorphous creature swooped forward and down, engulfing him.

Patton screamed. “What do we do?!” The blob monster was already rearing up again, looking slightly fatter.

Logan pulled out his crossbow, but hesitated to fire; the thing effectively had a hostage. He was spared the decision when the creature pulled up short, quivering like a molded gelatin.

Then it exploded. Blobs of black goo sprayed outward to a radius of twenty feet or more, eliciting cries of disgust from the three of them. There stood Roman, daubed in inky muck, sword in hand, jaw set in an irritated scowl.

“Gee, _thanks_ for the rescue, guys.”

“I froze! I'm sorry!” Virgil wailed.

“Don't worry about it too much, Black-Eyed Panther. I'm fine.”

“What _was_ that thing?” said Patton.

“A black slime...but it was _huge_. All the others I've seen so far have been like little crawling mud puddles.”

Logan retrieved the book from where it had fallen and found the section labeled “Beasts Under Stygia's Command.” “Well, look at that,” he said. “Your hypothesis has been supported by new evidence, Roman. It has updated itself.” He showed them the entry for the Black Slime, which had already been there, and just below it, the entry for the Giant Black Slime, which had not. The silhouette had converted into a detailed illustration of the thing they had just faced, with a short descriptive paragraph.

“That's great. We should get a move on,” said Virgil. “We're way too vulnerable out here. I almost want to say, that thing showed up to hurry us along.”

“Right!” said Roman, smoothing his hair. The black goo had already evaporated from his skin and clothes, as well as from the surrounding area in general. “So. Four towers. Pick your poison...perhaps literally.”

Logan had the book open to the map near the front. “The Tower of Bones, the Tower of Flesh, the Tower of Blood, and the Tower of Souls. I'm detecting a theme here.”

They looked around the courtyard. The air was still clear enough to see all four of the structures—one off-white and segmented like a spinal column, one covered in irregular lumpy blotches of pinkish stuff, one adorned with gargoyles spewing scarlet streams, and one with ghosts and shadows whirling around its upper reaches. “Golly. Which one do you think is which?” Virgil deadpanned.

“I can see why this game isn't getting very good reviews,” said Roman. “It's all a little too on-the-nose to be considered genuinely clever.”

“Now, Roman,” Patton said in his full-tilt dad voice, “I'm sure the designers and programmers worked really hard on everything. It's not nice to insult their work just because it's a _game_ and not a _game-changer_.”

“I might have nicer things to say if one of the things they designed and programmed hadn't just tried to _eat me_ ,” Roman pointed out.

“Do any of you happen to recall,” said Logan, “which order Thomas tackled the towers in? I know the game did not impose a specific sequence, but if I remember correctly, a viewer sent in a recommendation for ease of completion.”

“Same order you read them in,” said Virgil. “Bones, Flesh, Blood, S—” He cut off suddenly, striking a listening attitude, then suddenly flung himself at the other three, shoving them several feet. “ _Move!_ ”

The flagstones erupted, giving way as something plowed upward through them with a roar. There was an impression of flailing hoses and snapping clamshells before the wild motion settled down and it proved to some sort of plant monster, following the usual template of a Venus flytrap on growth hormones and angry pills. Its three leaf-mouths sprouted to a height of about ten feet and while on the one hand, they were nowhere big enough to swallow a person whole, on the other hand they were lined with needle-shaped teeth six inches long and dripping foul-smelling saliva-sap. They snapped blindly at the air, seeking prey, before falling motionless as the flytrap folded itself up and retreated back into the ground.

“How did you know that would happen?” asked Logan.

“I heard a noise and had a hunch,” said Virgil, trembling with excess nervous energy. “I'm sure of it now—the monsters are going to keep sneaking up on us as long as we stay out here. Let's get to the Tower of Bones before anything else happens.”

They re-oriented themselves and set out for the off-white, segmented tower at a brisk walk. Roman naturally took the lead, keeping his sword out in case of trouble. Patton followed just behind, while Logan trailed at a slightly greater distance, still occupied with the log. Virgil brought up the rear, constantly glancing around, painfully alert to anything that might approach from behind.

He soon found himself picking up the pace a little. “Guys, I'm hearing more of those same noises. Can we— _there_!” He pointed just as another flytrap monster reared up out of the planter they were passing. It was smaller, with only one head, but its teeth looked just as nasty on their own scale, and its gnashing jaws missed Patton by inches as he skittered away.

“Okay, I have had just about _enough_ of things trying to devour us!” Roman growled. He brought his sword around once and neatly beheaded the monster just as it started to retract. The head shriveled up even as it fell and bounced once on the ground before disappearing in a puff of smoke. Something else remained as well, something that twinkled on the flagstones. “Ooh, a new item drop!” Roman chirped.

“You heard the man, Logan,” said Virgil as Roman scooped up his find. “Open up the vulture bag.”

Roman scowled. “If you call it that _one more time_ , then you and I are going to have a problem.”

“I'll try to keep that in mind. Logan? The bag?”

“Hm? Sorry, I was distracted with the new entries for these plant monsters. Apparently the one just now was a 'Flytrap Sapling' and the larger one from before was a 'Flytrap Hydra.'”

“Ooh! Ooh!” Patton broke in. “Flytrapling and Hydrap!”

“Commendable use of portmanteau, Patton,” said Logan, holding the satchel open so that Roman could drop in the item: a seedpod shaped like a miniature version of the flytrap's head. As soon as it was in, Logan immediately let the bag close and started scanning the book again. “Here we are,” he said. “'Flytrap Seeds: Can be added to some alchemical mixtures in order to enhance their properties.'” He frowned slightly. “I confess that my interest in alchemy is limited to historical curiosity, but that doesn't seem authentic.”

“It's a video game, Teach. Don't take it too seriously,” said Virgil. “Let's keep moving. The longer we stand still, the more we're a sitting target.”

“Well, kiddo, are we _standing_ or _sitting_?”

Virgil groaned.

“I'll make a punster of you yet, Virge!”

They resumed their hustling pace. The monster encounters were coming more frequently now; every dozen paces a flytrap would lunge out of the ground, or something would come crawling out of the returning fog and leap at then. It was much more efficient to dodge the creatures than fight them, but this almost inevitably meant speeding up, until they were virtually sprinting across the courtyard to the base of the Tower of Bones. As they got closer, the details of the structure became visible.

It was certainly well-named. The exterior masonry was composed of a chalky stone (and as Logan informed them, chalk is made of the shells—i.e. the skeletons—of primordial sea creatures), each block boasting one or more embedded bones: humeri and scapulae and vertebrae and of course skulls, human and animal alike. Patton spotted one that had very definitely come from a dog and whimpered.

The door leading into the tower was relatively normal, made of wood, although the frame it was set into was more of the same bone-bedecked stonework. The builders had gotten artsy with it, using long bones and ribs to follow the curves of the archway. The keystone wasn't even an actual stone, but a massive skull, vaguely humanoid in form but much too large to be human, and with a single eyesocket underneath a beetling brow.

Despite its eyelessness, it managed to give the impression that it was watching them approach.

They probably would have been more concerned about that had the appearance of yet another flytrap monster, the largest yet, not commanded all their attention. It rose up between them and the door, three...four... _five_ heads slavering and snapping, the abruptness of it shaking the ground so that they had trouble keeping their footing.

“Well, gents,” said Roman, “looks like there's no running from this fight!” And with a war whoop, he charged right at a creature that could have swallowed all of them simultaneously and still had one head go hungry.

Virgil clutched at his own hair. “He's gonna get himself killed!”

The immediate term, at least, did not bear out this dire prediction. Roman cut an impressive figure as he dodged the first strike from the monster, feinted, parted the attacking head from its stalk, and then—never one to pass up an opportunity to one-up himself—followed through, whirling around to decapitate a second stem that was coming at him from behind. He skipped back to rejoin the others and admire his handiwork from a safe distance. The severed stalks twitched, while the remaining three heads shrieked and writhed.

“So,” said Roman, bouncing on the balls of his feet and flicking nasty juices off his blade, “who wants to get the next one?”

“Ummm...” Logan stammered, pointing.

The bulblike base of the plant, out of which the stems sprouted, was shuddering and bulging. Two irregular masses pushed out of it, one into each cut stalk, traveling along their length and extruding out of the oozing ends, where they swelled and unfolded in minature explosions of slime and revealed themselves as new heads.

Two new heads.

Per stalk.

Now they were facing a seven-headed monster.

“Flytrap _Hydra_ ,” Logan said pointedly

“With as much as I love mythology, I really should have seen this coming,” Roman admitted.

“So now what?” said Virgil.

“Maybe if we go around the back, we'll find another door,” Patton suggested.

“We should be so lucky,” Virgil muttered.

It was a non-starter anyway. The fog had closed in around the site in a way that any seasoned gamer knows to read as an impenetrable wall.

“It's a vegetable organism that appears to be imitating the mythical Lernian Hydra,” Logan observed. “Perhaps a torch or other source of intense heat would be effective.”

“ _Perhaps_ it would,” said Virgil, “but we _definitely_ don't have one.”

“Well, what do we have?” said Roman. “Our weapons...”

“The log book...” Logan added.

“Some rat teeth...” Virgil put in.

“Will you let that _go_ for five minutes? I could bring up some of the things I've seen in _your_ room!”

Before the argument could continue, the air was rent by a hideous screech in seven-part harmony. The Flytrap Hydra was no longer flailing randomly; all of its heads were pointed at the Sides, jaws smacking in seven different rhythms. “Something's gonna happen,” Virgil said in a low, dangerous voice. He drew his knives and adopted a fighting stance, one foot forward...

...but he was unprepared when one of the heads lashed out, lightning-quick, and grabbed him by the leg. He struck, slicing along the leathery surface, but instead of letting him go, it whipped upward, flinging him a short distance into the air. Virgil was too startled even to scream...until he started to come down again, right toward the gaping maw of the plant.

Something streaked through the air, and suddenly instead of dropping into an open mouth, Virgil was bouncing off of a closed one. He hit the flagstones, winded but unhurt, and looked up to see the flytrap head shaking madly, trying to rid itself of the crossbow bolt pinning it shut.

Logan stepped up beside him, reloading as if he'd been doing it all his life. His mouth was set in a grim line. “Are you all right, Virgil?”

“Y-yeah,” Virgil wheezed.

Another head dove toward them. Logan raised the crossbow and fired again, scoring another jaw-stapling hit. “Roman!” he called out. “I think we have a viable strategy!”

Roman was in motion before Logan reached the end of his sentence, his sword flashing. Instead of using the two-handed slashing motions that the katana was designed for, he was getting...well, creative. His form was more like Western fencing—not the overly formalized version with the empty hand tucked behind the back, but a swashbuckling style, jabbing and swiping, his off hand alternating between providing balance and moving as if to use a main-gauche that he did not, in fact, have.

He wasn't doing much damage to the flytrap heads that way. But it was one hell of a distraction, and it left Logan ample openings to put more bolts through the heads and neutralize them. They weren't all good shots, however—sometimes they hit at a bad angle and glanced off, or missed altogether, or hit home in such a place that the monster was able to shake them out. The pair reached a point where they weren't making any more headway—each successful pin was countered by a head working its bolt loose. This, unfortunately, was also the point where Logan realized that he was running low on bolts, and they were both getting tired.

And then Virgil rolled to his feet, darted in before he could second-guess himself, and plunged both of his knives up to their hilts in the central mass of the plant.

The result was both immediate and dramatic: all seven heads flung skyward, standing straight up on their stalks, and the creature emitted a warbling keening cry. One at a time, while Virgil scrambled away, crab-walking, they wilted and withered. The Flytrap Hydra crumbled before their eyes, some bits of it drifting away as smoke while others sagged and melted into the ground.

“Is that it?” said Logan. “Did we dispatch it?”

There came a high-pitched squealing noise. It was Patton, cheering. “ _Wooooooooooooo!_ That was _amazing_ , guys!” He waved his quarterstaff like a flag.

“These two deserve all the credit,” said Virgil. “I just took the opportunity they made.”

“It was a team effort,” said Roman, coming up to Virgil and placing a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of comradeship.

“He's not wrong,” said Logan. “That was some _very_ effective teamwork we managed to carry out, especially given the lack of opportunity for advance planning.”

“It looked pretty impressive from over here too,” said Patton. “I just wish I could have helped m—oooh, look at that!” He interrupted himself, pointing to the spot where the Flytrap Hydra had been. The ground had begun to shimmer, giving off a soft, silvery light. It was the first thing they had encountered in the dream that was actually pleasant...which made it somewhat suspicious.

“It's probably a trap of some kind,” said Virgil.

“No it's not,” said Roman. “It's a _save point_! He strolled without hesitation into the ring of light. Virgil flinched on principle, but nothing happened. “Come on in! The energy's great!”

The other three joined him, and did not regret it. The space inside the save point felt cool and soothing, with a quiet power that cleared away the minor hurts and fatigues they had accumulated so far. They spent a few moments just enjoying it, and collecting the seedpods dropped by the defeated Flytrap Hydra. Logan recovered some of his spent crossbow bolts, making a mental note to check the log book for advice regarding proper resupplying.

It would have been nice to just wait out the night right there, but they had a mission. They couldn't count on Thomas's limited sleep-awareness being in the save point with them. So once they agreed that they were sufficiently refreshed, they approached the Tower of Bones once more.

The double door swung open, _daring_ them to enter.

They did.

 

 


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Tower of Bones, the hazards get more...personal.

The first thing they noticed about the interior of the Tower of Bones was the smell. It wasn't all that repellent, or even especially strong—in fact in some ways it was more like the _absence_ of smell. The air inside was cool, but too dry and stale to feel nice on the skin. And it smelled like thick dust, of the kind that builds up inside a disused tool shed.

The second thing they noticed, once their eyes adjusted to the dim lighting inside, was the cobwebs. They thickly coated the upper corners of that first small room, layered upon each other, from raggedy gray tatters to webs so fresh they gleamed. Many of them were visibly inhabited.

Patton turned pale at the sight. “ _Nope,_ ” he declared, spinning on his heel to go right back out the way he came.

Roman caught him by the cape. “Steady, Padre. We'll keep you safe. It's much more dangerous to be out there alone.”

“There's something odd about the way those spiders are moving,” said Logan.

“It's not really about danger,” Patton muttered. “It's about an uncouth number of legs.” But he stopped trying to escape and settled for staying as close to the middle of the group as possible.

There were a few loose bones in the room too, but that was only to be expected given which tower it was. In and of themselves they weren't cause for much alarm: a small heap of animal bones that had built up beneath one of the webs. Roman prodded them with the tip of his sword, and they suddenly quivered and sprang up into the configuration of an entire skeletal rat, which screeched at Roman before scuttling away and taking refuge in a pile of rubble.

“That...was...interesting...” said Roman.

“At least it didn't attack you,” said Virgil. “You managed to find the one thing in this place that isn't mindlessly hostile.”

They crossed the room to the exit door, Logan leading so that if anything were waiting in ambush, he could shoot it. Nothing happened right away, so they cautiously entered.

This room was much larger than the first—about the size of a corner convenience store plus its parking lot—and cylindrical, the ceiling rising high enough to be quite invisible, beyond the light of the torches that lined the walls at regular but well-spaced intervals. This arrangement left plenty of room for the other major feature of the chamber: more spider webbing, in sheets even larger and thicker than those in the other room, spilling down on every side and even spreading over part of the floor, as if Wednesday and Pugsley had decided to build a bunch of blanket forts. Patton inhaled sharply through his nose and made an unhappy sound in his throat, but at least these webs didn't appear to be occupied.

Roman took one of the torches from its bracket and gave it a strong underhand toss, but even at the top of its arc, the light found only more blackness, criss-crossed by more webs. “Do you suppose it goes all the way up the middle of the tower?” he said.

“That is impossible to tell from our current position,” said Logan, “but we may have no choice but to investigate by climbing. There appears to be no other exit apart from the door we entered by.”

“Grab a web and make like ninjas, I guess,” said Roman. He reached for the nearest sheet, but it quivered before his hand made contact. The spider that ran out was _enormous_ , the size of a cat. Patton shrieked. Virgil kicked it, and nearly overbalanced from the motion. There was no heft to the creature whatsoever; it sailed away like a wad of crumpled paper and disintegrated in midair.

Before they could wonder much about that, more giant spiders, dozens of them, came clambering out of the clumps of webbing that festooned the room. They varied considerably in size, from “merely” the dimensions of a bird-eating tarantula all the way up to ghastly things comparable in height and breadth to a St. Bernard. As if to top it all off, two that were larger yet, on par with ponies, dropped out of the blackness above, practically drifting down on threads that were more like ropes, and landed with scarcely a sound.

Patton made a tiny noise of distress and sank into a crouch, leaning heavily on his staff and shaking so hard that it rattled against the floor. He was holding it together—barely—but his extreme pallor and the glazed look in his eyes indicated that he was right on the cusp of a nasty faint.

“Hold fast, Patton,” Roman said in a low voice, drawing close to the quivering Side without taking his eyes off the advancing spiders. “Just stay low. We won't let you come to harm.”

The spiders charged. The fight was on.

The Sides realized pretty quickly that it wasn't going to be anywhere near as bad as they feared—as horrific as they were, these monsters went down surprisingly easily. The smaller ones crumbled underfoot like potato chips, while the larger ones usually took no more than three good hits before collapsing. Not only that, but their near-weightlessness meant that even a glancing blow drove them back. There were a lot of them, and the variety of sizes made for a need to constantly change tactics, but ultimately the battle proved to be a matter of stamina more than anything else, and stamina was the one thing the spiders lacked.

After a few intense minutes, they realized that they had run out of opponents. A few dissipating wisps of the by-now familiar smoke, and a few glittering item drops on the floor, were all that remained of the horde. “Not that I'm complaining or anything,” said Roman, stooping to pick up an item, “but that was less of a challenge than I expected.”

“Wait a minute...” said Virgil, looking around wildly. “ _Where's Patton?_ ”

His staff was on the floor, some distance away from where he had nearly collapsed, but Patton was nowhere to be seen. Virgil suffered a brief vision of the moral Side, mummy-wrapped in silk, only his terrified eyes visible as he was carted away into dark tunnels...but it was cut short when Patton's voice, weak and a little shaky, sounded from one side of the room: “I'm here...” A moment later, he crawled out from behind one of the web structures, looking a little green but no worse for wear. He stood up and dusted himself off.

Virgil strode up to Patton and pulled him into a hug. “Don't  _scare_ me like that!”

“Sorry about that, kiddo. How should I scare you next time?”

Virgil huffed out a single quiet laugh, some of the tension leaving his body with the sound.

“A joke?” said Logan. “Congratulations on your quick recovery from your fright, Patton.”

“It wasn't as bad once I couldn't _see_ the spiders anymore,” said Patton. “How about you guys? Are you all okay?”

They confirmed that they were.

“Jokes aside...I'm really am sorry to have checked out like that.”

“Don't be,” said Logan. “If you determined that you were unable to help improve the situation, removing yourself from it was the correct course of action.”

“Don't beat yourself up, Pat,” said Virgil. “It's okay if you're not a fighter. I'm not much of one either.”

“But you _are_ the fight-or-flight reflex.”

“And nine times out of ten, if there's a choice, I'm gonna choose flight. Honestly, the only one of us who's comfortable with combat is Princey. The rest of us are just...adapting to circumstances.”

Patton mulled that over for a moment. Then he suddenly looked up, switching gears. “Oh, hey, I found something. Come take a look.”

He went back to his hiding place and gave the webbing a good yank, tearing it away with a sound like a bedsheet ripping. There was an irregular opening in the wall behind it, where the mortar had crumbled and several blocks of masonry had fallen out. It wasn't exactly a doorway, but it was big enough for a normally agile adult to pass through.

Logan took a torch from the wall and poked it through the hole. Nothing sprang out at him, and the flickering light shone on a set of steps, running parallel to the wall and leading upward. “It would appear,” he said, “that we have our way to continue. Nice work, Patton.”

They took a second torch as well and, because it was a narrow staircase, resumed the single-file marching order they had adopted out in the courtyard. The steps spiraled up, sandwiched between the wall they had come through and what was presumably the exterior wall of the entire tower.

They encountered a few clumps of webbing, but no more spiders. Logan pulled out the log book and flipped through it, looking for updates. “Roman, I saw you collecting the item drops a few moments ago. What did you obtain?”

“One of them was definitely a fang. The rest were...silk? I think? Spider silk?”

“Makes sense,” said Virgil.

Logan located the new entries in the log. “The Spider Fang can potentially be used for a weapon upgrade, while the silk...” He sighed before continuing with a direct quote. “'Spider Silk can be used in alchemical formulas for many purposes.' How unhelpfully nonspecific.”

“You know, at some point we'll have to start actually _using_ these ingredients,” said Roman. “We're probably missing out on some nifty advantages.”

“You're not wrong, but we should probably wait until we find a place with better light than a couple of handheld torches,” said Virgil.

“How far do you think we have left to go on these stairs?” asked Patton.

“Not much longer,” said Logan. “I've been keeping a mental tally of our distance covered, and we are nearly to a height such that a new floor would not be inconsistent with what we observed at ground level. We should keep an eye out for more missing stones, or loose mortar, or other irregularities in the wall.”

“How about a door?” said Roman, pointing ahead. The stairs leveled off into a short landing and there was indeed a simple wooden door set into the wall.

“Or that,” said Logan. “Far be it from me to complain about a straightforward, conventional solution to a problem.”

“Unless it's a trap,” Virgil pointed out. The other three shot him unamused looks. “What? It could be a trap. I'm not saying I think it _is_ a trap. Probably.”

Roman made a scoffing noise and passed his torch to Patton so that he could brandish his sword and open the door simultaneously.

This room was round like the previous one but visibly less shabby, with no cobwebs or rubble. On the other hand, there  _were_ a lot of bones, set into the walls in a similar fashion to the exterior of the tower. There were several such walls inside the space, dividing it into interconnected corridors. From the door, they had a straight shot across to the opposite wall, with the other passages opening onto that central one in symmetrical pairs, curving around to follow the overall shape of the room.

“Ooohhhhhhhhhhh crap,” Virgil whispered. “Guys, I think I remember this from the game. It's...not good.”

They drew close, suddenly wary. “So what's the plan?” asked Roman.

“Hang on, I'm trying to remember. Virgil swallowed a few times. “It's sort of a maze. We have to get to the exit door, but we have to do it fast, because the walls are gonna change as we go. And if we touch any of the bones in the walls, we're gonna be in a world of hurt.”

“Don't _you_ start being unhelpfully nonspecific,” said Logan. “What precisely will happen if we touch the bones?”

“That's just it,” Virgil said, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. “I don't remember all the details. Thomas was getting too nervous to continue playing and I had to pull back a little and I missed some stuff. I think maybe spikes were involved? Anyway, why is this all on me? What were you guys doing during this part?”

“I must have had my hands over my eyes,” said Patton.

“Let's not get sidetracked assigning blame,” Logan said a little too hastily, waving one hand in a dismissive gesture. “We need to devise a strategy for navigating this obstacle, such as an exploration algorithm to minimize the required time—”

“This is a _dream_ , Pointdexter,” Roman interrupted. “You can't... _math_ your way through it.”

“I suppose you believe you have a superior solution?”

“I do, in fact. It's called...” He struck a pose, raising his sword overhead like a general inspiring his troops.“... _facing things head-on_!”

Then he spun about and, with a wordless battle cry, charged into the network of corridors.

“Come on!” Virgil commanded, taking both of the other two by the hand and pulling them after Roman. No sooner had they left their position than a new wall segment sprang up, so rapidly that they might have been crushed against the ceiling if they hadn't moved. It was just one of the tumultuous changes happening throughout the room now that the puzzle had been triggered. Sections of wall were rising, falling, sliding, rotating in place, swinging into new positions, too fast and chaotic to track or predict. The sheer _noise_ alone was nigh-unbearable, and each motion carried with it the threat of inadvertently touching the bones embedded in the masonry and unleashing whatever horror _that_ would bring.

The others caught up with Roman just as he was skidding to a halt in a dead-end that had been a clear passage an instant ago. “Is this the outcome you were hoping for, Roman?” Logan said, possibly intending sarcasm but unable to modulate his tone and still be heard over the cacophony of the grinding walls.

“I thought I saw the door over here before this wall went up!” Roman shouted back. “Once it comes down again, we'll be home free! Well...not _home_ free, but you know what I mean!”

“It's not going to come down as long as we're standing here!” Virgil informed him. “It's a barrier! We'll have to find another way around!”

As if on cue, a section of wall next to them swung on its corner, opening up a new corridor. They ran into it, ducked around a corner that suddenly existed, and found themselves pulling up abruptly at another dead end. Virgil reached out to steady himself against an empty patch of wall...only to realize, too late, that it had been in motion, he had misjudged, and his hand was coming to rest on a protruding scapula.

Virgil didn't say it out loud because Patton was standing right there, but he  _thought_ a very profane word.

No, not that one. The other one.

The slamming and scraping of the walls subsided at once, and a new sound arose: a rattling, gradually increasing in intensity as first the bone Virgil had touched, then those nearby, then the ones next to  _those_ , and so on, began shuddering in their settings.

“Guys, I am _so_ sorry,” said Virgil.

“The odds were in favor of this happening sooner or later,” said Logan. “We'll just have to prepare for whatever follows.”

“Here come the spikes,” Patton said, cringing.

The bones shook themselves right out of their places in the walls and clattered to the floor. A cold, stale mist arose apparently from nowhere and coalesced around the grisly objects, seeping in, infusing them. They began to roll here and there across the floor, linking up like in the lyrics to that children's song.

The bones stood up, fully assembled into human skeletons. They reached into the newly created gaps in the stonework of the walls and pulled out weapons: swords and maces and axes, all in hideous condition, patched with rust but no less lethal for it. The one in the lead raised its sword, hung its jaw wide open, and screeched in that way that animated skeletons always seem to be able to do in fantasy horror works even though it makes no physical sense. The undead soldiers lurched into a rough formation and, with grotesque, jerky motions, began to advance on the cornered Sides.

“Oh, I don't _think_ so!” said Roman in his best braggadocious voice. He stepped forward perhaps a pace and a half, putting himself and his own blade between the threat and his three companions. “Stay behind me and stay low,” he ordered them. He twisted his leading foot into a bracing position: a defensive stance.

Logan and Patton dutifully crouched, not taking their eyes off the oncoming horde. Virgil took it a step further, pressing himself back into the corner of the dead end, his own eyes wide with terror...but also with  _guilt_ for having been the one to cause this.

The lead skeleton came within striking distance, but Roman held his ground. It raised its sword again, with no more grace or technique than someone chopping wood, held it for a second or two, and brought it down with surprising speed. Roman blocked it easily, the impact raising sparks from the steel. But instead of rebounding for another go, the skeleton kept up the pressure, and with a gasp, Roman realized that this wasn't going to be easy at all.

Who could ever have expected something with zero muscle mass to be so  _strong_ ?

It bore down, forcing Roman to one knee. “ _Patton!_ ” he gasped. “Get ready to strike!”

“Wh-what?”

“You're the only one with a blunt instrument!”

At that moment, the skeleton changed its tactic from brute force to finesse, twisting its blade around Roman's and yanking. In combination with his own upward pressure, it was more than enough to disarm him, his sword flipping away to land somewhere among the other undead. Suddenly defenseless, leaning as far away from the menace as he could without falling over backward, Roman called out to Patton again.

“What do I do?” asked Patton.

“Just wallop it! Pretend you're playing tee-ball!”

Patton nodded and sprang forward to stand alongside Roman, holding his staff like a baseball bat. He may or may not have had his eyes closed when he brought it around to smash into the side of the skeleton's skull, but either way, he landed a solid hit. The skull spun around on the neck, a full six rotations, and when it came to rest, it was noticeably dented in along the squamosal suture. The skeleton screeched again, and this time it was possible to interpret the sound as a cry of alarm or even pain.

But any sense of triumph was short-lived, because the damage wasn't enough to put the thing down and indeed seemed to make it angrier. The screech rose to a virtual roar and the rusty sword went up again.

Patton held up his staff in both hands for whatever protection it might provide. Roman reached for the edge of his cape, determined to pull him out of the way of a direct hit. Logan closed his eyes, unwilling to witness what must be coming. The corroded blade began to come down...

Deep within Virgil, a switch flipped. It was nothing dramatic. It didn't even turn anything on as such. But it turned something  _off_ .

What it turned off was a strategically placed letter L.

He lunged, seized the skeleton's sword arm, held it at bay.

“ **No!** ” he growled, voice reverberating. “ **Don't touch them!** ” With a snarl and a twist, he snapped the arm off at the elbow and flung it aside, sword and all. He flung his other hand upward, leading with the heel, and struck the skeleton's chin, snapping the dented skull backward. It collapsed like a Jenga tower, falling to bits as if it had never been animated.

“Oh my gosh, Virge,” Patton whispered.

With a howl of rage, Virgil waded into the rest of the horde, flailing and thrashing. One after another, he grabbed parts of the skeletons and literally yanked them apart, all the while expertly dodging their counterattacks. The other three watched with fascination...and no small measure of dismay, for they had never seen Virgil in such a feral state before. His teeth were bared, his eyes ablaze with something equally fright and fury. He hadn't even drawn his knives (not that they would have been much use against bone), carrying out his destructive rampage with fists and feet alone. The only “weapons” he used were coincidental, when he would throw an attacking skeleton off himself and into another skeleton, usually shattering both in the process. His “technique,” such as it was, was sheer brutal ferocity. If he took any hits in return, they did not slow him down.

And he did not stop until every last skeleton lay in shambles on the stone floor and had begun to disintegrate in the usual fashion.

Finding himself out of opponents, Virgil began to come down from his frenzy. The mad light in his eyes died down, though he was still panting as heavily as if he had just run a marathon. He staggered sideways, steadying himself against a wall.

“Kiddo? Are you okay?” said Patton.

Virgil's head whipped toward the group, as if he were startled to find anyone else present. His eyes flickered back and forth, but did not focus.

“Easy,” said Logan. “I think he's—”

Virgil crumpled to the floor with a sigh.

 


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys are getting the hang of the Tower of Bones…but the danger is ramping up!

As soon as Virgil began to fall, Patton was in motion and the other two weren't far behind. He practically skidded to his knees next to the unconscious Side and nudged him frantically on the shoulder. “Virge? Virgil? Can you hear me?”

“Don't jostle him,” Logan counseled. “He may be injured.” He immediately began checking what he could, feeling Virgil's pulse and forehead and combing through his hair in search of any bumps or broken skin. Roman got the idea and ever-so-carefully lifted the hem of Virgil's jacket and tee-shirt to look for injuries there. Patton settled for holding one of Virgil's hands and humming what he hoped was a comforting tune.

After a few moments, Roman sat back on his heels, relaxing slightly. “He might get some interesting bruises, but he's not bleeding anywhere I can find and I'm pretty sure the only bones he broke...weren't his.”

“That's consistent with my observations,” said Logan. “His vital signs are within normal parameters and I found no evidence of head injury. It appears to be a mere fainting spell, probably brought on by overexertion and perhaps parasympathetic overcompensation. He should be all right in a few minutes.”

In fact it was less than two minutes later when Virgil stirred and sighed and his eyes fluttered open. “There he is!” Patton beamed. “Welcome back, Virge!”

Virgil startled to full wakefulness, halfway sitting up in one jerking motion. “What happened?” he asked.

“What happened, Fall Apart Boy,” said Roman, “is that _you_ went a little overboard with the whole 'protector' schtick. Not that Patton and I aren't _fervently_ grateful, right Patton?”

“You sure saved us, kiddo, but it hurt to see you freaked out like that. Are you okay?”

Virgil pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry you had to see that. That one-in-ten is a doozy.” He slowly pushed himself into a more upright sitting position. “So now what?”

“We should continue searching for the exit door,” said Logan. “I only hope the walls haven't stabilized in a position blocking it.”

Patton helped Virgil to his feet, and the group began exploring the configuration of passages that the room had settled into. Roman quickly found and reclaimed his sword, and also located a few item drops—bone powder and iron oxide—left by the defeated skeletons. “You know...” he said, “...maybe we shouldn't be in such a hurry to move on. “It's quiet here now. We could take some time to see what we can make with all this stuff we've been collecting.”

“That's...not a bad idea,” said Logan. “At the very least, we should attempt to improve our arsenal.”

They found a clear area large enough for all four of them to sit criss-cross-applesauce in a circle, with the satchel in the middle. Logan got out the log book, surprising no one, and the others started pulling out the various jars and pouches containing the components.

“So how exactly does this work?” said Virgil.

“Nonsensically,” said Logan without looking up from the book.

“Vague much?”

“He’s just salty because a made-up process in a fantasy video game, surprise surprise, _doesn’t resemble reality_ ,” Roman said, deftly sorting the items by type.

“That still doesn’t answer my question.”

“Evidently, we’re supposed to put components into the ‘crucible’ even though _this_ —” Logan said, waving a piece of glassware that had been in the bag, “—is a Florence flask. Upon which, without application of heat, chemical catalysts, or any other additional processing, the ingredients will spontaneously transform into helpful items in violation of all known laws of physics, chemistry, or indeed rational sense.”

“It's not supposed to make 'rational sense,' Nicola Testy,” said Roman. “It's called _magic_.”

“No,” said Logan. “It's _called_ 'alchemy.' It _is_ magic, which is to say, it's complete...poppycock.”

“Logan!” Patton gasped. “Language!” He picked up a vial and twiddled it in his fingers. “I remember you getting pretty frustrated over this stuff while Thomas was playing. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I doubt that I really have anything to say on the matter,” Logan said, but then immediately contradicted himself by adding, “It’s the bait-and-switch that rankles. The premises of medieval alchemy were…flawed beyond belief, to put it mildly…but the _practice_ had enough merit to lay the foundations of what would eventually become the great science of chemistry. To implicitly promise _that_ and then deliver _this_ …”

“That must be pretty disappointing, especially since there wasn't much else in the game that interested you.”

Logan lowered the book and sighed with a little lopsided smile. “All right, Patton, I see what you're doing...and I appreciate it. I suppose I should...follow the current? Forgive me; my vocab cards didn't enter the dream with me.”

“Are you trying to say 'go with the flow?'” said Virgil with a smirk.

“Yes, that was it! Thank you, Virgil. Now then...”

The book gave vague ideas of the purposes of the various alchemical components, but none of the actual formulae. These they had to discover through trial and error, though fortunately the crucible (or flask, as the case might be) would not activate unless it contained a viable combination. Once created, each item had its log entry filled in.

They started with the spider fang, which was explicitly identified as a weapon upgrade but didn't seem to do anything as it was. The addition of black slime, however, converted it into a “Ghost Fang,” which bonded with the hilt of one of Virgil's knives, turning the blade insubstantial. Emboldened by their success, they then combined another dose of the slime with bone powder from the recent battle, resulting in a reddish-brown “Marrow Gem” which settled into the handguard of Roman's sword and would, the log assured them, make the weapon doubly effective against skeletal enemies.

“It would have been nice to have this fifteen minutes ago,” Roman muttered.

“We're not done with this tower yet,” Virgil pointed out.

“This is more helpful than I expected,” said Logan. “Some of the item descriptions are rather vague in themselves, but seeing how they interact with each other is enabling me to suss out their individual properties. The black slime, for example, appears to have some sort of inversion effect—when combined with bone, it created a targeted destroyer of bone creatures, and when combined with an entirely physical hazard, it created something that seems to operate on a less material level. I confess that the second one makes very little sense to me, but I am trying to take it in stride.”

“You're doing great,” said Patton. “I think I'm getting the hang of this alchemy stuff too. It's kinda like baking! What sort of sweet treat shall we whip up next?”

“Don't lose perspective, Patton,” said Roman. “These are weapons for fighting undead horrors.”

“I know. I'm trying to put a positive spin on the situation. I'm sure I'll run into plenty of terrifying things later on, but for now, the fear game has been hit with a little _brain_ delay.”

The last thing they managed to synthesize, using spider silk, a rat tooth, lizard venom gland, and two flytrap seeds, was a string for Logan's crossbow that converted the bolts into magical darts of fire. At that point, the glass of the crucible clouded and darkened—according to the log, it could only be used three times in a row, after which it would require some time to reset.

“Well, that's a bummer,” said Roman as they started to pack up. “All four of us should have been able to upgrade together.”

“I don't mind,” said Patton. “It really didn't feel good when I whacked that skeleton. I guess I'm just not cut out for the warrior gig at all.”

“Don't sweat it, Pat,” said Virgil. “We'll figure out your role in all this. Besides, sweating stuff is _my_ job.”

Now that they didn't have a madly metamorphosing maze to contend with, they found the exit door fairly readily, and a continuation of the stairs beyond it. They fell back into their standard marching order for the ascent. A few skeletal rats crossed their path from time to time, skittering from one hole in the wall to another, but they didn’t attack.

Before long, they arrived at another landing adjacent to a door, and this one featured the welcome sight of a glowing save point. They piled into the comforting, refreshing circle of light.

“Do you guys think these things are _actually_ saving our progress?” Virgil wondered. “Like…if we get hit with a TPK, will we respawn at the last one we found?”

“An interesting hypothesis,” Logan said, adjusting his glasses, “but not one I would be in any hurry to verify via experimentation.”

“There’s something familiar about this one,” said Roman. “Yes, when Thomas was playing, he did save the game on the stairs in the Tower of Bones, just before…” His eyes widened, but not with fear as such. “…just before the stage mini-boss.” A grin grew on his face. “Megalossolops. Follow me, but be quiet so we don’t wake it up until we’re ready.” He grasped the door handle and carefully tugged it open.

This room was tall like the first one, but better lit so that they could see right up to the ceiling, some fifteen feet over their heads. There wasn’t anything interesting up there however, and if there had been it probably could not have competed with the thing propped up against the opposite wall.

It was standing, more or less, but slouching heavily. Its arms and legs were shackled and chained to the wall behind it, linked to heavy iron rings sunk deeply into the stone. It was of course a skeleton, its bones yellowed with age and marred with fine cracks, humanoid...but definitely not human, for two major reasons.

First, it was about twelve feet tall.

Second, its skull was a near-twin to the one from the keystone in the arch outside, with just a single central eyesocket. A massive faceted jewel was set in it like a glassy, polyhedral eye.

“Megalossolops,” Roman said again in a near-whisper.

“I see,” said Logan in the same tone. “Large Bone Eye.”

“You guys can sit this one out,” Roman continued. “I remember _exactly_ how this fight went in the game and with the enhancement to my sword, I should have it in the bag.”

“What if it comes after us?” Virgil said urgently.

“He won't be able to reach you as long as you stay over here by the door,” Roman explained. “Here's how this will go: I walk up, tap his leg with my sword in an exploratory fashion, he wakes up, pulls at the chains, _one_ of them breaks—the one on his right arm—but the other three hold, and then it's just a matter of dodging one set of terrifying scythe-like claws until I manage to climb up to his skull and pry that jewel out. A perfectly routine monster-slaying.”

“That sure doesn't _sound_ routine,” said Patton. “Kiddo, are you sure you know what you're doing?”

“Patton,” said Roman, throwing his free arm chummily around the other Side, “I've been doing this sort of thing ever since Thomas was old enough to appreciate three-act structure. I'll be right back.”

He marched right up to the inactive Megalossolops, sword drawn, and rapped it smartly on the shinbone with the flat of the blade. Nothing happened immediately. Roman half-turned back toward the other three, waggling his eyebrows, and maintained his smug expression even as his provocation had its slightly delayed effect and the creature quite literally roared to life. The jewel in its eyesocket blazed with a sickly yellow-green light as it stretched to its full height, straining at its chains, screaming to the ceiling in a _basso profundo_ register.

Roman skipped back a step or two as, right on cue, the Megalossolops yanked with its right arm, splitting the chain, and took a swipe at him. He parried it easily and came back with a riposte that took one of the, yes, scythe-like claws right off the hand. “Oh, I am going to have _fun_ with this!” he crowed.

Then the Megalossolops roared again, jerking at its bonds. The chains held, but the stones of the wall began to crack. One after another, the anchor rings tore free of the masonry. The monster was loose.

Roman didn’t turn away, but the others could see his jaw set more firmly as he squared off with his oversized foe. He adjusted his grip on his sword, blew a slow exhalation…and charged.

“Oh, kiddo, be _careful_ ,” Patton fretted.

Care was not the main issue. A properly “careful” approach to fighting a giant cyclops skeleton would be, well, not to do it, but that was scarcely an option. Roman went in low, focused on the enemy’s kneecap. He ducked out of the way of the slashing right hand again, then the left as it followed up, but the wildly swinging chain caught him on the shoulder. He rolled with the blow, letting himself tumble across the room, and came to rest, scuffed and bruised, against a small heap of rubble.

The Megalossolops made a snarl of victory...and then turned its attention to the other three. Logan raised his crossbow, but before he could fire, the monster was struck in the skull by a chunk of rock the size of a billiard ball.

Roman got to his feet, readying another stone. “Hey! Leave them alone! Your quarrel is with me, you...bony blackguard!” He whipped the second rock at it, just to make sure he registered as the true threat, and went in for another charge. He managed not to run afoul of the chains this time, but was still prevented from getting close enough to the Megalossolops to land a blow by those same chains. He and the monster circled each other several times, neither one able to strike the other decisively—Roman was too nimble to fall prey to the Megalossolops's claws, but said claws and especially the flailing chains, constantly forcing him to duck and sidestep, were too effective a barrier.

“He...he needs _help_ ,” said Logan as if it were an epiphany. “Follow my lead!” He put away the crossbow and launched himself toward the confrontation. But he neither attacked nor defended, at least not directly. Instead, he made a beeline for one of the Megalossolops's ankle chains, caught hold of the ring at the end, and _hauled_ , bracing with his feet. The giant felt the sudden resistance and turned toward Logan with a growl of rage.

“Oh, no you don't,” said Virgil, scrambling over to the other ankle chain and yanking it in the opposite direction.

“What are you two _doing_?” Roman demanded.

“Obviously,” Logan puffed, “we are attempting—to recreate the original—conditions that you expected—going into this—fight!”

Now Patton joined in, jumping to grab the chain on the Megalossolops's left wrist. “Room for one more in this chain gang?” he said. He didn't weigh enough to force that arm down and immobilize it, but his swinging robbed the monster of much control. It bellowed with pure outrage, attempting to fling him off without success.

And then Roman darted in, slashing high, and carved a furrow down the enemy's sternum and four of its ribs. On a living human, or even possibly a living giant, it would have been a killing cut. The Megalossolops being undead already, it just grew angrier. It went in for another blow, which Roman only barely dodged, and that only because its reach was shortened by the length of a claw. As it was, there was the sound of fabric tearing as the prince leaped, free hand outstretched to grab onto a clavicle.

He then used  _ that _ as leverage to flip up and over so that he was standing on the monster's shoulders. He turned his sword point-down, held it in both hands, and commanded, “Get clear!” As the other three let go of the chains and scooted to the edges of the room, Roman drove his sword down into the skull.

It split with a sound like a thunderclap. The gem went shooting out of the eyesocket, its sickly light dying. The bones froze for a moment, holding the Megalossolops's last pose, and then fell apart, clattering to the floor a few at a time.

Roman pushed off the slowly crumbling remains, did a gorgeous backflip in midair, and came down in a modified superhero landing pose, touching down with one hand and the balls of both feet, as lightly as a ballerina. His sword hand was outflung, the blade catching the light and _actually ringing_.

“And that,” he said, straightening up in a motion equally as smooth, “is how it’s d—aah!”

Suddenly he was staggering as his left leg halfway buckled underneath him. He dropped his sword. A bloodstain had appeared on his trousers, oozing out from under the hem of his tunic, spreading fast. Virgil ran up, caught him from behind before he collapsed altogether, and eased him down. The other two crowded around.

“By Hermes' winged helmet,” Roman panted. “I _thought_ that one swipe was too close for comfort...”

Logan acted methodically, inspecting Roman’s thigh in order to locate the wound precisely. He swore under his breath. “The femoral's nicked.”

“Isn’t that the really big vein?” said Virgil, eyes widening.

“Artery. But yes, it's one of the largest,” Logan replied. He clamped down with both hands, one directly over the wound, with a squelching noise that made them all wince, and the other higher up, compressing the injured vessel against the pelvic bone. It didn't shut off the flow of blood entirely, but it slowed it.

Tears sprang to the corners of Roman's eyes, but he forced a smile. “Why Logan, you eager beaver,” he said, trying to keep his tone light even through the tremor in his voice. “Is this really the time and place?”

“Very amusing,” Logan replied dryly. “Hold still and try to stay awake.”

“Logan?” said Virgil. “Is first aid going to be enough?”

“I don't know,” Logan said tersely. “Do what you can to keep him from losing consciousness.”

“What can I do to help?” asked Patton.

“Get—” Roman began, squirming a little, but Logan cut him off with a harsh “Hold _still._ ”

“You know what you can do, Pat?” said Virgil. “You can go into the vulture bag and try to make a healing item out of the nasty monster bits. The crucible must have cleared by now.”

“Yes. That,” said Roman, assiduously not moving. He sounded tired. He hadn’t even mustered an objection to the word “vulture” this time.

“I’m on it,” said Patton.

“Try using spider silk as the base,” suggested Logan. “Cobwebs have been used as bandages on occasion, so it may have the right…resonance, if you will.”

The next few minutes were full of quiet tension as Logan and Virgil tried to make Roman as stable as possible and Roman, for his part, fought to stay awake against encroaching shock. Patton bustled with the contents of the bag, coping by focusing on the task itself, setting aside why it was necessary. He muttered to himself, making little “ooh!” noises every time the ingredients came together into something useful, followed by increasingly distressed groans when the new entries in the log didn't show up in the Healing section. (He was painfully aware that he only had three chances.) Finally, there came an “Aha!” of triumph and he hurried back over, holding up a deep red, glassy sphere the size of a golf ball.

“I got it! Spider silk, iron oxide, and two flytrap seeds,” said Patton. “The book calls this a 'Full Restorative.' It'll bring him back to full health, but how do we give it to him? It's too big to swallow.”

Roman was in no condition to swallow anything solid anyway. He had grown distressingly pale and quiet by this point—his eyes were open and blinked regularly, but it seemed like all the gusto had already bled out of him.

“I think you crush it,” said Virgil. “That's what the animation in the game looked like.”

“It seems to me,” said Logan, “that it will be more effective if Roman activates it, however that is to be done.”

“Roman, you still with us?” said Virgil, gently slapping the other's face.

Roman blinked rapidly, and his eyes brightened just a bit. “Yes...but...I'm afraid...I don't have the...strength to...crush anything right now.” He raised one shaky hand and only made it a few inches before he had to let it drop.

“Well, I know how to fix that!” said Patton. He picked up Roman's limp hand, curled it around the sphere, and wrapped both of his own hands around the outside. “You ready, kiddo?”

“Can't really...say no, can I?”

Patton smiled warmly and squeezed. There was a soft crunching sound, and Roman drew a sharp breath, his eyes flying wide. A warm glow emanated from inside his hand and quickly migrated, seeping into the flesh, illuminating the veins from within. Roman closed his eyes again and frowned, but the expression was one of concentration more than pain. The glow spread—it was invisible through cloth, but every inch of Roman's exposed skin was filigreed with light. It would have been utterly beautiful if it hadn't been recognizably his _veins_. That aspect made it weird.

After a moment, the glow faded. Roman's complexion was back to its normal high color, and his eyes, when he opened them, were bright and alert. He sat up slowly, experimentally.

“How do you feel?” asked Patton.

“Fine. Great, in fact!”

Logan carefully lifted his hands from Roman's body, and they were _clean_. The blood had disappeared—sucked back in, perhaps. “Astonishing...” he remarked.

Roman grinned, rocked backward slightly, and then used the momentum to spring up to his feet, reclaiming his sword in the process. “Back to my fabulous self! Thanks to the three of you, of course.” He bowed gallantly.

Patton was on his feet in an instant, hugging Roman so fiercely that he had to drop the sword again before another artery got slashed open. “I'm so relieved that worked! I'll never say anything bad about spiders again! Even though they still terrify me!”

“I would say 'well done,'” said Logan with a fond little smile, “but that hardly seems adequate. Patton, that was...masterful.”

“It was?” said Patton.

“I propose,” Logan continued, “that we appoint Patton as keeper of the satchel and official...item combiner.”

“Alchemist,” Roman said absently.

“ _Inaccurate_ ,” said Logan. “Medieval alchemy was nothing—anyway, Patton, would you like that responsibility? You were worried about being useless, but I think such a role would suit you well. You can keep us supplied with necessary items and experiment to see what new items might be created as we discover more components.”

Patton's eyes widened with surprise. “Really, Logan? You think I'd be good at that?”

“Why not ask Roman? It's primarily thanks to you that he is still here to ask.”

Slightly stunned, Patton turned to Roman for confirmation.

“It's true, Padre. I officially owe you my life.”

“Well, in that case...yes, I absolutely want that responsibility! To take care of my kiddos  _ that hard _ ? One hundred percent yes! Come here, all of you. This calls for a group hug! You too, Logan; get in here!”

And for just a few minutes, despite everything, they were all right. They could take on any foe, any horror.

They had each other.

 


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did someone say...level boss?

Nobody _really_ wanted to end the group hug, but they had a mission. “Okay, champ-a-rinos, Dad's gotta breathe,” said Patton, prompting the others to release him and each other. As they separated, something swung out from under the folds of Patton's cloak, something that caught the light.

“What's this?” said Roman, seizing it in one hand. It looked like a suncatcher crystal on a fine gold chain. “I didn't create this as part of your outfit.” He turned it this way and that, watching it sparkle.

“Pretty, isn't it?” said Patton. “I accidentally made that while trying to make healing items. I couldn't find it in the book with the hurry I was in, but I decided to keep it anyway.”

“Do you think that's _safe_?” said Virgil.

“I think,” said Logan, “that if it were likely to hurt him it would have done so by now. This game doesn't exactly run on subtlety. Nonetheless, we should try to identify it as soon as it’s feasible.”

“How about right now?” said Roman, hooking his thumb over his shoulder at the heap of bones that used to be the Megalossolops. The remains were finally disintegrating, crumbling into the floor…and another save point was opening up.

“Does it bother anyone else that these things are showing up more often?” said Virgil, even as the four of them headed for the friendly glow. “And we’re still only in the first tower.”

“Two intervals is not enough to establish a pattern,” said Logan. “Patton, the log, please?”

Patton rummaged in the satchel. “Oh hey look, the crucible's cleared up again! That was fast this time! We should make some more goodies as long as we're here! Here's the book, Logan.”

“If I'm not mistaken,” Roman mused, “we'll have unlimited use of the crucible as long as we stay within the confines of the save point.”

“Make more healing items,” Virgil said. “As many as we can with the ingredients we have.”

“I agree with Virgil,” said Logan, locating the appropriate section of the log. “The hazards here are not to be taken lightly, as recent events made quite clear...” He abruptly snapped the book shut and sat up, ramrod straight, eyes closed. He was trembling slightly, his breathing a tad heavier than normal.

“Logan...?” Patton said in a small voice. “You okay, buddy?”

Virgil got his feet under him and crouch-shuffled over to the logical Side. He gently placed one hand on Logan's forearm and said “It's gonna be all right. Do you need me to walk you through a breathing exercise?”

“No,” Logan said, a small hitch in his voice. “No, thank you.” He inhaled deeply and exhaled. “Please excuse me for that momentary loss of dignity. I suddenly became extremely aware of the very real danger we all face. For goodness' sake, only minutes ago, Roman was at risk of bleeding out. I could not afford to be frightened in the moment, but now...”

“Hey man, it's cool,” said Virgil. “Nobody's judging you.” He shot a meaningful glance at the other two, with special attention to Roman, who held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture but said nothing.

Logan cleared his throat and made as if to straighten his tie, only to remember that he wasn't wearing it. He settled for fiddling with the edging of his robe. “Let's begin, then. It will put my mind at ease to know that we are better equipped for the road ahead.”

“On the road ahead,” Patton sang in a passable imitation of Willie Nelson as he pulled components out of the satchel, “I can't wait to get on the road ahead. As long as I know I ain't gonna end up dead, I can't wait to get on the road ahead.”

“Not bad, Patton!” said Roman. “I had no idea you dabbled in extemporaneous filk.”

“Oh, I don't. I just sometimes like making up new words to existing songs off the top of my head.”

“That's...a noble pursuit as well.”

“If I may interject,” said Logan, “I've found something of definite interest. Just above the Full Restorative that was used to heal Roman, there is a nearly identical entry that hasn't been filled in yet. It seems likely that it represents an item with the same basic effect, but to a less powerful or less profound extent.”

“So...a Partial Restorative?” Virgil guessed. “Why would we want that when we know how to make a better version?”

“For the same reason you might make cupcakes instead of a full-sized cake,” said Patton, dropping a few items into the crucible and giving it a shake. When he turned it over, a familiar glassy red sphere fell out, but this one was only the size of a marble. “Because sometimes you don't _need_ an entire cake, and you wouldn't do yourself any favors by eating one.” He tallied up the unused ingredients. “I have enough for four more of these. Then I can try out some new stuff.”

“You do that,” said Virgil. “And in the meantime, Logan can try to figure out what that necklace is all about.”

“Ah. Yes,” said Logan. He leafed through the book. “I think this is it. Patton, may I see the crystal again? Thank you. Yes, here it is.” He frowned. “Its name is given as 'Soul Crystal,' but the description is just a short string of question marks. I hate it when games do this.”

“It won't even say what it's for?” Virgil protested. “That's it, we need to _yeet_ that thing down the deepest hole we can find!”

“Noooo!” Patton wailed, closing his hand around the pendant.

“Relax, Jumpy Bear,” said Roman. “The question marks just mean it's a plot-relevant item and the game doesn't want to give us any spoilers.”

Virgil made an unhappy noise in his throat, somewhere between a growl and a sigh, but since he was clearly outvoted he didn't press the issue. “Tell you what, Virge,” said Patton. “Roman, hand me that yucky greenish thing, would you? If the crystal starts acting weird or suspicious in any way, I'll take it off until we figure out what's going on, okay?”

Virgil grunted a noncommittal reply.

“Perhaps a change of subject would be wise,” said Logan. “I've been investigating the map of this tower in the log, and it appears this is the last stop before we confront the 'boss' of this stage.”

“I remember,” said Roman, his eyes sparkling. “I bet we all do. It was all hands on deck for that fight, wasn't it? You and I were helping Thomas with battle strategies, Virgil was spotting all the little dangers he would have missed, and Patton was providing the visceral reactions. Such exquisite teamwork! If we can pull it off again, we'll be in fine shape.”

“Just one question,” said Virgil. “Where do we _go_ from here? In a literal sense? The only door to this room is the one we came in by.”

“That is actually an excellent point,” said Logan. “Evidently our next move will be to look for a hidden passage of some sort.”

“Ta-da!” Patton crowed, holding up a small bottle of something green and syrupy. “And the latest addition to Papa Patton’s Alchemy Emporium is… Logan…?”

“Oh.” Logan thumbed a few pages. “Hmm. Antitoxin. However, it doesn’t specify against which toxin. Am I to assume the game is playing fast and loose with the laws of chemistry again?”

“I can do another of these, but then we’ll need to restock ingredients,” said Patton. “I'm basically down to the stuff we started with, only less of it.”

“I don't think we're going to get many chances for item drops between here and the stage boss,” said Virgil. “We'll just have to hope we have enough to get through it.” He mulled that over. “And, since it's my job to be the doom and gloom around here, I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that we don't.”

“Your assumption has been registered with the Bureau,” Roman said with a cheeky smile. “So then! On to glory!” He rose to his feet in one smooth motion and strode out of the save point.

“Just so we're all on the same page,” said Virgil as the others followed suit, “we _are_ putting him in bubble wrap as soon as we get home, right?”

No sooner had they stepped outside of the glowing circle when the tower shuddered. With a low grinding noise, the floor began to rise slowly.

“ _UM!_ ” Virgil shouted, pointing up to the ceiling. His terror was short-lived, however, for as the floor continued to ascend, the ceiling…opened up, dividing into sections which slid apart and outward. Dust came down in drifts, and when it cleared, the overcast sky was clearly visible above them.

“Well,” said Patton. “It’s a way out.”

A few more minutes brought them level with the top of the tower, out in the open air. There was a stiff wind up there, but fortunately there was a kind of wall, about five feet in height, all the way around the space, so at least they didn’t have to worry about being blown off the edge.

They were surrounded by bones. The portion they were standing on, formerly the floor of the room below, was only about half the diameter of the whole, and most of the rest was littered with heaps of them.

The bones came in a variety of sizes, but the average was _huge_. It was as if there had been an earthquake in a paleontology museum.

“Ohhhh yeeaaahhh, I do remember this,” said Patton. “I think they've got a—”

“ _Don't,_ ” Logan said.

“— _bone_ to pick with us!”

Virgil groaned loudly. “Patton, you made that exact pun when Thomas got to this part! _And_ you made Thomas say it too! Then Joan laughed, Talyn looked into the camera like they were on _The Office_ , and the viewer chat went _nuts_.”

“Some of them addressed me by name!” Patton beamed.

“A fine time was had by all, but let's not get distracted,” said Roman. “Any second now...” Right on cue, the bones started to rattle and jump. As if the aforementioned earthquake were happening in reverse, they tumbled across the stones, collecting in one spot and mounding up.

The mass took on a roughly humanoid form, bulky, hunched-over, more apelike than really manlike...but it was not by any means a giant ape _skeleton_. The bones simply agglomerated into the shapes of limbs and body and head, like a driftwood sculpture. As soon as it was put together, the monster—the Bone Colossus—roared and advanced, swiping clumsily with fisted hands that were more like clubs.

“You go low, I go high?” Roman suggested.

“Works for me,” said Virgil.

They dashed in, weapons flashing. Roman's enhanced sword carved pieces off the Colossus left and right, while Virgil concentrated on its ankles. Oddly enough, it wasn't his regular knife but the one upgraded with the Ghost Fang that did the most damage, disrupting whatever force was animating the bones so that the whole lost structural integrity with every blow. In very short order, the two of them had reduced the Colossus back to a heap...and the other two hadn't even needed to get involved.

“That's Round One in the bag!” Roman crowed. “Get ready for Round Two!”

The defeated bones quivered again and reassembled themselves—not into the hulking semi-bipedal shape they had adopted before, but something equally huge but long and thin, halfway between a snake and a ferret.

“Uh...you go back, I go front?” said Roman, but before Virgil could reply, the thing's lashing tail struck him in the chest and sent him hurtling across the space.

Gasping, the wind knocked out of him, Virgil tried to sit up but could only curl into a fetal position, clutching his ribs. He heard someone approaching at a run, and then something small and round was being pressed into his hand. “Gotcha covered, kiddo!” Patton said.

Virgil clenched his hand, feeling something crush within it, and a surge of warmth washed the pain away. “Thanks, Pat!” he said, but the other Side was already skittering away, putting a safe distance between himself and the fight. Virgil located his knives and prepared to rejoin the action.

Logan and Roman were handling things pretty well in his absence, the former keeping the Bone Colossus distracted with flaming crossbow bolts while the latter more-or-less took it apart, piece by piece. But it wasn't until Virgil came in again with his Ghost Knife that the victory became decisive.

Then it was time for Round Three. The bones practically _leapt_ into a kind of fan arrangement, which hoisted up into the form of a spider—no, a _scorpion_ , its tail made of outsized vertebrae and a sharpened rib. It was still arachnid enough to send Patton fleeing, wide-eyed, to the very edge of the arena.

“Patton!” Logan called out, dodging a strike from the makeshift stinger. “I think it would be wise to have a dose of the Antitoxin ready!” It didn't make any _sense_ for a creature made entirely of scrambled bones to have a venomous sting, but neither had it made any sense for the hollow exoskeletons of spiders on the tower's first level to possess working fangs and spinnerets.

In any case, the stinger was a significant threat with or without poison just on the basis of its size and dagger-sharpness. It stabbed down again and again, missing by a hair each time…until Roman deliberately let it drive into the very tip of his boot, curling his toes safely out of the way. The stinger caught fast in the leather and he sliced it clean off. The rest of the scorpion went down fairly easily after that.

“You,” said Virgil in the brief respite before the bones took on their fourth and final form, “are _crazy_.”

“Sorry, what was that, Virgil?” Roman responded, cupping a hand to his ear. “I couldn’t quite hear you over the sound of my own AWESOMENESS!”

“Kids, don’t fight!” Patton called from the far edge of the arena.

“Pay _attention_ ,” Logan added, nodding at the rapidly re-assembling skeleton—and now it _was_ becoming a proper skeleton. Individual bones were linking up into recognizable anatomical features: splayed talons, a lashing tail, powerful jaws rimmed with fangs, a pair of sweeping horns...and the framework for what would have been vast batlike wings had the monster had skin.

A dragon. A skeletal dragon.

They had known it was coming, but that didn’t in any way lessen the experience of being physically (or metaphysically) in the presence of something that could have bitten them all in half, simultaneously, without really trying.

Its eyesockets were full of flames.

Roman's grin threatened to take the top of his head off.

“Crazy,” Virgil muttered again, although it was unclear whether he was still referring to Roman, or to the situation, or possibly to himself.

The Bone Colossus wasted no time—immediately upon forming, it reoriented upon the three combatants, opened its fleshless jaws, and spewed forth a gout of fire. They scattered, Roman still grinning like he was having the time of his life.

“Stay split up!” Logan barked. His reasoning was perfectly sound, as it usually was, but it didn't help much. Now that the Colossus had all its bones in the proper places, it was shockingly nimble for its size, and between that and the near-constant strafing jets of flame, they simply couldn't get close enough to strike it.

Logan tried—just once—shooting at it with his enhanced crossbow, only to belatedly realize that you can't literally fight fire with fire. The scorching torrent that followed missed him so narrowly that he heard some of his hair sizzle. He scrambled to the marginal safety behind a pile of miscellaneous bones that hadn't been part of the dragon, where he found himself in Patton's company.

“Hot enough for you?” the other Side quipped.

“Quite,” Logan agreed. “I need a momentary break to think of a strategy...”

“Well...” said Patton over the sound of roaring, screaming, and a sort of nervous cackling, “could we alchemy up something that would help? I've still got a few ingredients.”

Moments later, Logan rejoined the fray to find Roman pinned under one of the Bone Colossus's forefeet, apparently unhurt but unable to move, and Virgil cornered against the outer wall of the arena, looking right up the barrel of the dragon's snout. He was fidgeting with his knives, possibly considering some sort of Hail-Mary maneuver with them.

Logan was more than pleased to spare him the trouble. “ _If I may interject!_ ” he called out, raising his crossbow. The Colossus turned its head to face him. Its eye-flames flared and it prepared to spew more of the same his way.

Logan set his jaw and squeezed off three bolts in rapid succession. They hit home on the dragon's spreading jaws...and thick ice spread from the points of impact, fastening its mouth shut and clogging the dubiously defined passage through which the fire would come.

“Patton!” Logan shouted. “ _It worked!_ ”

“See? I _told_ you the opposite of fire was ice!”

The Colossus scratched at its blocked mouth, releasing Roman, who sprang to his feet and took advantage of the new status quo to start carving away at any part of the monster he could reach. Virgil was just so relieved to be out of the literal line of fire that he sagged back against the wall, letting his arms go limp.

The rest of the fight did not take long—they had cracked the code, and the tables promptly turned. Logan, with his newly minted crossbow string, could lay down ice faster than the Bone Colossus could chip it away, allowing Roman—and Virgil too, once he collected himself—all the opportunities they needed to finish taking the beast apart. In desperation, it tried to produce one last mighty blast of fire...and succeeded only in blowing its own skull apart, as the outgoing flames sublimated half of the ice into steam which then had nowhere to go but violently  _out_ .

For the next several seconds, bones and bone fragments rained down on the arena. One of them, a peculiar twisted shape and softly glowing, floated down gently to rest at Roman's feet.

He picked it up. “Do you know what this is? It's a token! Guys!  _We beat the Tower of Bones!_ ” With a whoop of delight, he grabbed the nearest Side, lifting him off his feet and spinning him around.

Unfortunately, that Side was Virgil, who yelped with dismay and squirmed out of his grasp. “ _Warn_ me before you pull crap like that! Jeez!”

The whole of the arena was starting to glow, with the same gentle, refreshing light that characterized a save point: as clear an indication as anything that they had reached a major milestone. The tower began to shudder under their feet, and there were great cracking, splitting noises from within.

“Do you know what that sound is?” Logan said nervously. “That's the sound of structural instability.”

“Relax, it's not going to hurt us. We _won_ this round,” Roman pointed out.

The light flared brighter, blinding them all for a moment, and when their vision cleared, they found themselves back on ground level, in the courtyard...where they had a magnificent view of the Tower of Bones as it cracked and crumbled and ultimately shook itself apart until all that remained was a low, irregular heap of shattered stones and, of course, bones.

Patton made a low whistle. “One down, three to go,” he remarked softly. They all turned to face the opposite corner of the courtyard and their next stop on the adventure.

The Tower of Flesh.

 


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ickiness abounds in the Tower of Flesh, and the danger continues to ramp up...

“So, uh, guys,” said Patton, “before we get in too much of a hurry to tackle that next tower, I really need to restock my alchemy goodies. I'm down to _crumbs_ after making Logan that new string where we reversed the polarity.”

“Reversed the...” said Logan. “Patton, you are adorable when you try to sound technical, but this isn't _Star Trek._ More's the pity.”

“Say no more, Padre,” said Roman. “I am more than happy to clear the field of foes once again and bring you the spoils.”

Virgil conspicuously coughed into his hand. It sounded like the word “vulture.”

“I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that,” said Roman.

“That's the second time he's claimed not to hear me,” Virgil remarked in a mock-horrified hush. “I think he might be suffering from hearing loss. We need to get that sorted out _pronto_. Think of what it would to do Thomas if his creativity went deaf!”

“I heard _that_!” Roman snapped. A sudden slurping noise near his feet grabbed his attention, and he glanced down just in time to see the black slime springing toward his face. Roman slashed at it, destroying it, plucked the item drop out of mid-air, and tossed it to Patton. “Here's something to start you off, Patton!”

The other, three stared. “That...was actually fairly impressive,” said Logan.

“I may be getting too used to this,” Roman sighed. A second slime _gloop_ ed up toward him from behind, and he thrust his sword backwards to dispatch it without even turning his head.

“Let's get a move on,” said Virgil. “At this rate, we'll get all the components we need walking a straight line between here and the next tower.”

It wasn't literally possible to make a beeline diagonally across the courtyard, what with all the planters and other features, but they did the best they could, and sure enough, the minor monsters came thick and fast enough to rebuild Patton's stock of basic ingredients.

“I have mixed feelings about this,” Patton remarked, packing away item drops. “I mean, it's great that you guys are handling the critters so well, but are you sure you're not getting...you know...desensitized to violence?”

“We almost certainly _are_ becoming desensitized to it,” said Logan. “Given the way the human mind works and that we are all aspects _of_ a human mind, it would be almost impossible to avoid it under the circumstances. However, the violence we are experiencing is heavily fictionalized and Thomas is a well-adjusted adult who knows how to approach fictional media with a critical eye. And this is, after all, the dreamscape. The long-term impact should be minimal.”

“Oh, that is _horrible_ ,” said Roman suddenly. “No, not your conversation... _that_.”

They had drawn close enough to their destination to make out details. The Tower of Flesh was not literally made of flesh, the way the Tower of Bones had been made of bones (partially or completely, depending upon whether the chalk counted). The exterior masonry was a pinkish granite, liberally veined with black and white, that might have been rather attractive in a less gruesome setting. It was rendered disgusting, however, by the glistening, translucent _stuff_ that partly coated it in large patches of irregular color and shape, as if spilling unevenly down the walls...or growing over them.

“Okay, that is legitmately hideous,” said Virgil. “I don't remember it being that gross in the actual game.”

“Roman!” Logan said. “Might this constitute an inconsistency that you could exploit to get us out of this dream?”

“No,” Roman sighed, pulling a face. “It's more like a...graphics upgrade. Even the most superb video game cannot truly compete with the imagination, including dreams.”

“How are we gonna get it?” Patton wondered. “There's a huge padlock on the door, and we don't have a key or anything.”

Roman snapped his fingers. “There should be a key hidden in the weeds around the base of the tower.”

“Correct,” said Logan. “This part had Thomas and myself quite stumped, but fortunately one of the fans had played through the game and kindly offered the solution via the chat window.”

“Okay, but... _where_ in the weeds?” asked Virgil.

“The precise placement is randomly determined,” said Logan. “We'll just have to search.”

“Split up?” Roman suggested.

“No,” said Virgil, maybe a little too hurriedly. “Definitely not. Not in a place like this. We can...I don't know, spread out enough to search without getting in each other's way, but we should stay within sight of each other.”

They fanned out, adopting—perhaps unconsciously—the arrangement they used for Thomas's videos, and began poking around in the tangled foliage. It was a simple enough task, but not entirely without risk due to things like sturdy thorns, or the knee-high flytrap seedlings that occasionally reared up, snapping. Roman was the one to find the key after several moments, holding it aloft with a triumphant “Aha!”

Patton tucked his staff under one arm so he could clap. “Yay, Roman!”

“Cool,” said Virgil. “C'mon, Logan, Roman fou— _what are you doing?!_ ”

The very instant the search for the key had been resolved, Logan had turned his attention to something piquing his curiosity: the yuck growing over the wall. He walked up to a likely patch of it and reached for it with an extended finger.

“Are you _crazy_? Don't _touch_ it!” Virgil squawked, but he was too late—Logan's fingertip made contact, and a strand of goo followed it when he pulled away. He rolled the substance thoughtfully between his fingertips and then began to bring it up to his face. “And now he's gonna lick it,” Virgil said in a tone of pure disbelief to anyone who might listen. “He's gonna _lick the goddamn slime_.”

However, Logan only gingerly sniffed at the goo. “Very faint odor,” he said. “Definitely organic, but I can't narrow it down at all. Perhaps some kind of slime mold?”

“That's great, Teach, but you need to cut this experiment short,” said Roman. “You're upsetting the hall monitor.”

Virgil, who had been pulling at his hair with both hands, let go with one of them so he could point fiercely at Logan. “You wash that hand right now! It's probably flesh-eating acid or something!”

Logan scrubbed his fingertips against a bare area of stone. “I assure you I would have felt the effects by now if the substance were corrosive to the touch.”

“And what would you have done if it _had_ been, huh?”

“Now that Patton's bag is restocked, I assume he would have been able to synthesize the appropriate restorative item.”

“You don't know that! What if it was a, a, a, insta-death thing?!”

“Clearly it wasn't, so can we move on?”

“Guys!” Patton interjected. “Come on, you all did such a great job cooperating to defeat that big bone monster. Don't spoil it by fighting with each other.”

“You're right,” said Virgil. “Patton's right. Let's just...get inside and see what sort of nightmares _this_ tower plans to throw at us.”

Roman was already working the key in the padlock. It dropped to the ground with a theatrical _clang_ and the tall double doors opened, letting them into the Tower of Flesh.

It was surprisingly warm inside, and the air was noticeably humid. The space they entered had an earthen floor, carpeted with suspiciously soft, green moss. More of the strange slime spilled down the interior walls, but for the time being they were prepared to accept it as a harmless thematic element.

The area was littered with chunks of stone, irregular in shape but smooth on at least one side, like slabs that had been shattered. A few larger pieces were planted in the ground.

“It looks like an old neglected graveyard,” said Patton, nudging a piece of stone with his foot. Something illegible was engraved on it. “How sad.”

“How _ominous_ ,” said Roman, readying his sword.

Right on cue, the earth began to crack and shift, and a good half-dozen semi-decomposed figures climbed out and began to shamble toward the Sides.

“Zombies! Called it!” said Roman.

“You didn't call anything,” said Virgil.

“I did too; I said this scene was ominous.”

“Whatever. Just try not to get in our way while we take 'em down. They won't target you—zombies only eat brains.”

“Har-dee-har-har,” said Roman. Then the zombies arrived.

It was not an especially difficult fight—a few notches above the spiders, maybe—but it took a while before they figured out that they had to take the zombies' heads off or they would just reform after a few seconds. Once they got that, it was only a couple of minutes before they had cleared the field. They waited for the zombies to dissolve into smoke, but it didn't happen.

Suddenly the room flared with bright silvery light. It wasn't a new save point, instead coming from somewhere on the ceiling—a globe about the size of a cantaloupe, inconspicuous before but now shining like a miniature full moon.

 _Exactly_ like a full moon, in fact, because harsh animal howls suddenly split the air, and a pair of shaggy, semi-bipedal creatures that were unmistakably werewolves came right through the wall, slicing cleanly through the masonry with scythe-like claws.

“Nice puppies!” Patton squeaked.

However, the beasts ignored the Sides entirely and instead went right for the fallen zombie carcasses, devouring them one after the other with sickening crunching noises and flying gobbets of rotten meat. When they had finished, they howled again and exited back through the hole they made in the wall.

The Sides traded round-eyed glances. Logan swallowed heavily. “Of everything we have so far experienced in this dream, witnessing _that_ was the most difficult.”

“This tower had better not just be an extended dog food errand,” said Roman.

Patton was staring at the orb overhead, which had dimmed again. “A tiny moon...” he mused. “Do you think we can get it down from there? It might be a useful thing to have with us if it can control or communicate with werewolves.”

“Leave it to Patton to see what we just saw and immediately jump to 'We should take the ball so we can play with the doggies later,'” Virgil said wryly, but not unkindly.

Patton lifted his staff and nudged the globe with the tip. It immediately separated from the ceiling, but rather than dropping and crashing to the ground, it floated, drifting in the air like a huge soap bubble. Gasping with delight, Patton made a grab for it, but it evaded his hand, swooping toward the opening in the wall, and passed through it.

“I think that's our cue,” said Roman. “We're meant to follow it.”

On the other side of the wall was a short corridor, running off to the left and right. The impression of humidity grew stronger, and for the first time they noticed a musty smell like decomposing leaves. As their eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting conditions, they realized that the hallway was overgrown with vines and creepers and mushrooms large enough to sit on, not that they would have.

There was no sign of the orb, but faint light spilled into the corridor from the ceiling at both ends, indicating exits up there. They filed in cautiously.

“It occurs to me that this tower is slightly misnamed,” said Logan. “So far we have encountered noticeably more vegetable and fungal matter than animal matter such as could be classified as flesh.”

“I noticed that too,” said Roman, who hadn't, “but let's face it: 'Tower of Organic Substances' isn't nearly as punchy a name, is it?”

Virgil leaned forward and grabbed Patton's arm, preventing him from poking at some lumpy thing growing out of the wall. “Nobody touch _anything_ ,” he said. “That goes double for you, Bill Nye the...Safety...Ignoring...Guy.”

“Wow, Virgil, your nickname game needs serious work,” said Roman. “Allow me to demonstrate: Bill Nye the Reckless Guy, same cadence. Or, Bill Nye the Non-OSHA-Compliance Guy, which rhymes with the original, although I'm not entirely happy with all those extra syllables. Hang on, I can figure this out...”

He never got there. Just at that moment, Logan—without actually touching anything—evidently got close enough to one of the lumpy growths to trigger some kind of response, because it suddenly burst, spraying some sort of mist into his face. He staggered back, coughing.

“And that's why,” said Virgil. “You good? Logan?”

Logan shook his head, his coughs becoming deeper and more rasping. He moved one shaking hand in a repeating series of gestures, finger-spelling: T-O-X-I-C.

The rest of them snapped into action. Roman practically leapt to Logan's side, pulling one of his arms over his own shoulders and supporting him while they moved back into the previous room, where the air was clearer. Patton flipped the satchel open and began rummaging while walking, with Virgil guiding him so that he didn't stumble into any danger of his own.

Roman sat Logan down, leaning him against the tallest of the gravestone stumps. His coughs had developed into harsh wheezes, with no way to tell whether that was an improvement or not. But he was able to take the vial that Patton handed him—the Antitoxin—uncork it with his thumb, and down the green liquid in one swallow.

It took effect pretty much instantly; Logan's breathing evened out and his shaking stopped. “Thank you, Patton,” he said weakly. He took off his glasses in order to wipe his watering eyes with one sleeve. “And you too, Roman. That was very quick thinking.”

“ **I** **a** m _s_ _ **o**_ _gl_ _ **a**_ _d_ y **ou** m **a** de **u** s **a** ll m **e** m **o** r **i** ze th **e** f **i** ng **e** r **a** lph **a** b **e** t!” Virgil said, just a hint of the panic-echo entering his voice.

“I did so precisely in case of situations such as that,” said Logan, getting to his feet. “Patton, I think it would be wise to synthesize more Antitoxins. Given the organic theme of this tower, we will likely encounter more poisonous threats.”

“Right,” said Patton. “But I can only do three for now, remember. Oh, looks like we still have one left over!”

“In that case,” said Logan, “I propose that we each carry one, in the interest of readiness should something like that happen again.”

“Which is practically a guarantee,” Roman said, wrinkling his nose as he peered back into the corridor. “There are quite a lot of those...grotesqueries.”

“I believe I have a solution to that as well,” said Logan, hefting his crossbow. He had the Fire String equipped. “Stand aside, please.”

Roman moved off, and Logan sighted along the stock to a particularly gnarled knot of creepers and...fired. He turned around as the flames erupted and spread through the hallway, mostly so that he could look cool like an action hero, though he'd shave his own head before admitting it. After only a few seconds, the fire burned out and a few wisps of smoke drifted back into the room.

Roman inspected the corridor again. “Well, it looks clear,” he said. “Sort of. Technically it looks sooty, but beggars can't be choosers.”

The musty smell in the hallway had been replaced with an ashy one, but nothing excessively irritating. There were no unpleasant surprises waiting for them, but there were a few small pleasant ones: a couple new item drops, and, at either end of the space, clumps of vines that had somehow survived the scourging-by-fire, hanging down the walls and extending right up through the chinks in the ceiling.

“Looks like we climb,” said Roman. “But which way?”

“We could spl—” Logan began, only to be cut off emphatically by Virgil.

“No _hecking_ way! You were going to say ‘split up,’ weren’t you? Not on my watch! _Never_ split the party!”

“It was only going to be a suggestion,” said Logan, slightly taken aback.

“Sorry. It’s just…look, no good ever comes from splitting up. If you take anything away from _Scooby-Doo_ , it should be that.”

“That, and real estate developers are always up to no good!” Patton piped up.

“How about this,” said Roman. “We just pick one. If it takes us where we need to go, great. If not, we head back and try the other one.”

“Boom,” said Virgil. “Princey has the right idea for once.”

“Must you turn _everything_ into a slight?”

“It's what I'm good at it.”

“Aw, don't say that, Virge! You're good at lots of things!”

They had started walking toward one end of the hallway while talking, and now they arrived at its curtain of vines. Roman tugged firmly on each one in turn. “They seem sturdy enough. Who wants to go up first?”

“Not it,” said Virgil.

“I'll do it,” said Logan.

“Are you sure?” said Roman. “It was actually a rhetorical question; I fully intended to lead the way myself, as is my duty as the hero of this drama. I mean...suit yourself, but isn't this the sort of thing that always trips up nerds like you in gym class?”

Logan raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him, took hold of the vines, and began climbing, bracing his feet against the wall as he settled into a rhythm, arm over arm.

“I was kidding,” Roman said as the other ascended. “ _I was kidding!_ ”

“Less talk, more climb,” came back down.

“Touché,” Roman muttered. He shrugged and followed.

Virgil and Patton lingered a bit, watching the other two gradually rise more than a full story above ground level. “Ugh, _exercise_ ,” said Virgil.

“You gonna be okay, kiddo? I know you’re not crazy about heights.”

“Climbing isn’t so bad. I can feel what’s holding me up. It’s flying that gets to me. Well, here goes an annoying amount of effort.” He rolled his shoulders, loosening the joints, and started up.

That just left Patton, fretting at the scope of the task in front of him. “Why couldn't the game be called _Stygia's Bungalows_?” he asked no one. It wasn't that he didn't think he could make the climb in and of itself...he just wasn't sure he could do it while carrying the satchel _and_ his staff. The others all had straps or sheaths for their weapons, but the staff was proving to be more walking stick than weapon, including an assumption that he would just carry it by hand. If only he had some way to tie it to himself...

Several minutes later, he grunted and panted up the remaining inches of the vines, reaching blindly with one hand. Someone caught it and pulled him out onto the new floor. “Easy does it, Pat,” said Roman. “I got you.”

“Boy, that's a lot easier when you're _playing_ a video game and just have to hold down the Up button,” said Patton. He reached down toward his ankle and pulled on a silvery cord he had tied there. His staff was tied to the other end.

“Where did you get that string?” asked Virgil.

“Oh, no, please tell me you didn't resort to pulling threads out of the cloak I made you!” Roman exclaimed.

“I didn’t! I made it with the crucible. It's the Gleepner!”

“The...what now?” said Roman.

“I needed some way to hang onto my staff and I noticed the crucible had cleared up, so I thought, why not? It took the last of the spider silk and a couple other things, but I have a whole spool of it!”

“And it's called...Gleepner?” said Logan.

“Well, I'm sorta guessing on the pronunciation. Here, I'll show you!” He dug the log book out of the satchel, thumbed to the appropriate page, and held it open.

“Oh, _Gleipnir_!” said Roman.

“That's really no better,” said Logan.

Roman's face suddenly lit up. “That's where you're wrong, Logan. This is a stroke of luck! The original Gleipnir is a magic item from Norse mythology—the rope used to bind the monstrous wolf Fenris!”

“You know mythology isn't my strong suit. Wait...wolf? You think it might be useful against the werewolves if we encounter them again?”

“It's certainly worth considering,” said Roman. “Bravo, Patton!”

“Aw, shucks, I was just making sure I could bring my staff with me! So, what have we got up here?”

“Well, nothing jumped out and tried to kill us as soon as we arrived, which is unusually soft for this place,” said Virgil. “We haven't really looked around yet. We were waiting on you.”

Just here, there wasn’t much to see. The “incongruous plant life” theme continued, and they spotted a couple more of those poisonous fungoid growths, up near the ceiling where they constituted ambiance rather than hazards. Logan shot them anyway, with the ice bolts this time.

As for exits, they could take their pick—at least half a dozen openings in the walls were visible from their position, and many of the tangles of vegetation were large enough to be hiding more. This was not necessarily a comforting thought, however.

“I smell another maze,” said Roman. “That and mildew.”

Something crunched under Virgil's foot, and he jumped back, knives practically flying into his hands. “Take it easy, Virge, it's just some dry leaves,” said Patton.

“Nothing in here is _dry_ ,” Virgil argued. He bent down and scraped dead plant matter away from the floor, revealing part of...something. He cleared away more debris—whatever the thing was, it was big. Now the others joined in, alternately scraping and tugging, until they had freed the entirety of it from under the litter.

It was long and wrinkled, with an appearance and texture like shriveled wax paper. They had seen things like it before, usually in a pet store, usually just before Thomas spotted the tarantula in the adjacent terrarium and skedaddled out of the reptile section, _never_ longer than about two feet. This one, as best they could estimate from its crumpled shape, was closer to _twenty-five_ feet in length.

It was a shed snakeskin.

 


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sides face a giant snake in its lair. It proves to be their worst enemy yet.

“I do _not_ like this,” said Virgil, turning this way and that, trying to keep an eye on every corner of the room at once.

Logan was still examining the snakeskin, trying to determine more details about their presumed next big opponent, leaving the other three somewhat at loose ends.

“You…don’t really like anything,” said Roman.

“That’s not true,” said Virgil. “I like Patton.”

“Awww!” Patton cooed. “I like you too!”

“I like MCR. I like stop-motion animation directed by Henry Selick. But snakes? Not a fan.”

“Hmmmmm…” Logan said in that tone that meant he was about to Present His Findings. “From the size alone, I would assume a constrictor, but I am cognizant of the fact that this is a fictional setting, not limited to normal Earth fauna. The head portion of the molt is unfortunately in the worst condition, but it seems broad enough to accommodate the large venom glands typical of a viper.”

Virgil swore softly.

“Unfortunately, the molt does not retain the animal’s coloration, so I have no clues there. On the whole, I think we have to assume the worst: we are dealing with a venomous snake of a size unmatched among known species.”

“We have lots of Antitoxins,” Patton pointed out.

“A viper…” Roman repeated. “A _p_ _it_ viper? Could this thing track us in the dark?”

“That is one of many things I am unable to determine. It would be sensible to acquire some kind of portable light source regardless.”

As if in response, a familiar silvery light flared overhead. The moon-like orb had floated into the room while they were all preoccupied. Before they could do much more than notice, loud howls emanated from one of the exit hallways, and the werewolves rushed in. There were four of them this time...and no zombie meat to distract them. They circled the Sides, snarling and snapping, not exactly attacking, but lunging enough to make them jump back a pace or two every so often.

“Watch your step,” said Logan. “They're herding us.”

“Good eye, Teach,” said Roman. “Try to figure out where to, and why, while the rest of us hold them off. Patton, Virgil, stand your ground. They can't herd us if we won't be herded!”

“Standing my ground isn't really my M.O.,” Virgil muttered.

“That's okay. It's mine,” said Patton. “Stick close, kiddo. No! Bad dog! Don't snap!”

Logan turned away from them, observing the space behind them. There was a knotty clump of foliage back there that seemed to be the werewolves' intent for them. Logan checked that he still had the Ice String equipped on his crossbow—fire wouldn't do in this situation—and squeezed off a bolt. A surprisingly large area of plant life flash-froze, and shattered an instant later—not explosively, but  _loudly_ , with thousands of brittle icy shards ringing as they bounced off the floor and each other.

The werewolves flinched away from the noise. In the next moment, they cringed harder and, yelping, fled the scene. Once again, the glowing orb dimmed and followed them. “That was...unexpected,” said Roman. “They must  _really_ hate frozen vegetables.”

But Logan had seen something the other three hadn't, for just the half-second it took to retreat deeper into the remaining foliage. “No...” he said, eyes wide. “It was the snake. I saw...well, just the end of its tail, but it was every bit as immense as the molt suggests. Even the werewolves are afraid of it!”

“Say, why are they called _werewolves_ , anyway?” said Patton.

“Oh,” said Logan, instantly calming down and flipping into “teacher” mode, “it comes from the Anglo-Saxon—”

“Because,” the moral Side continued, interrupting, “it's not a special place that makes them transform, it's a special time, the full moon. Shouldn't they be called _when-wolves_ instead?”

Logan exhaled hard through his nose. “Either you're doing that on purpose or you're not, and I'm not sure which prospect discomfits me more.”

“Can we get back to the snake?” said Virgil. “If the Fursona Squad is afraid of it, and they were herding us in that direction...maybe they want us to take it out?”

“If it was just there...” Roman said, cautiously pacing closer to the scoured plants, “...where did it go?”

He drew his sword and slashed at a curtain of vines. They fell away to reveal the plain masonry of the wall...which had a hole in it near the floor. It was just large enough for an adult to crawl through on hands and knees...which made it the perfect size for a colossal snake to slither through easily and without fuss. Roman slashed again, and a second such exit was revealed, closer to the ceiling.

“Stand back,” said Logan. Roman did, and the intellectual Side let off two more ice bolts, clearing the rest of the foliage. The air was growing noticeably cooler at this point.

For the moment, that was less significant than the fact that the wall was  _riddled_ with holes suitable for the passage of quite a large snake, but not so much a human. There were even a few in the floor.

Acting on a hunch, Virgil peered into one of the side tunnels, then another. He couldn't make out any more holes, but there was plenty more plant growth which could easily be masking some. “Bad news, guys,” he said. “That snake can basically pop out of anywhere at any time and attack us.”

Before the discussion could continue, there was a crackling noise from the discarded snakeskin. They had left it lying in a rough circle, and now it crumbled away into a ring of light: a save point.

“Well, whaddaya know!” said Patton.

“Looks like we set an event flag,” said Roman.

“So much for my resting pulse rate,” said Virgil. “If we're getting one of these now, then we're _right_ about to be thrown into something nasty.”

“It does allow us a safe space to take a break, discuss our strategy, and make more Antitoxins,” Logan pointed out. “And I believe I may have a viable strategy already. Observe.” He aimed his crossbow at one of the holes and shot. A thick layer of ice instantly plugged it. “As we go along, we must locate and block as many of the holes as possible. Either we will eventually trap the snake somewhere it cannot reach us, or we will force it out into the open where we can face it on our terms. As a bonus, the repeated application of ice to the environment will lower the ambient temperature, rendering ectothermic animals such as reptiles sluggish and sleepy.”

“Wow, Logan, you worked that out fast,” said Patton.

“Of course. I am highly intelligent,” Logan replied in a tone of voice that made it a simple fact rather than a boast.

In what was by now becoming a semi-comfortable routine, they plunked down in the save point and got to work organizing ingredients. A few minutes later, they had more than doubled their supply of Antitoxins and were feeling a bit better about the upcoming encounter.

“Eyes up, all,” said Roman as they ventured into the first tunnel. “Snakes are stealth hunters, but it can't sneak up on us if we're sufficiently wary.”

“Hey, that's my line,” said Virgil. He must have intended it in a spirit of snark, but he couldn't disguise the tremor in his voice.

Logan flash-froze the first clump of plants, revealing two holes which he then plugged.

“I think your fire arrows would work faster for clearing the foliage,” Roman observed.

“Indubitably,” Logan replied, “but not only would it be harder to control, it would negate the cooling effect of the ice that already exists.” He scoured the next patch. “Plus I would have to constantly swap out my crossbow strings, which would be very tedious.”

“Guys?” said Patton. “Guys, I think I hear something hissing in the walls...”

“It's not by any chance saying 'Enemies of the Heir beware,' is it?” Roman quipped.

“Dude! _Not_ the time!” Virgil retorted.

“The reference is inaccurate in any case,” said Logan, “since it was not the basi—”

He broke off in shock as something exploded from the wall ahead of them in a brief shower of leaves and twigs. As the snake raced across the width of the tunnel and into a hidden opening on the other side, it became apparent that if anything, they had lowballed the estimate of its size. It was at least  _thirty_ feet long, its head easily as big as any of their own and  _clearly_ shaped to house large venom glands. It was gone again too quickly for them to make out its exact coloration, but there was a general impression of dull yellow-brown and black and a few flashes of blood-red.

They traded spooked looks. Virgil pressed his lips together tightly and let out some nervous energy as a tuneless hum, and even that slight vocalization carried hints of reverb distortion.

“Keep it together, kiddo,” said Patton. “You can do it.”

“D **o** n't l **i** ke sn **a** kes...” Virgil muttered.

“Weeelllllll...” Roman said carefully, “technically, you don't have to deal with _snakes_ , because there's only one. How do you feel about...snake, singular?”

Virgil shot him a dirty look, but a little of the tension eased out of his shoulders—it was hard to be terrified of something and irritated with someone else at the same time. Roman waggled his eyebrows in a disarmingly goofy fashion, and Virgil rolled his eyes, gave the prince a light shove, and continued on.

They went on through the winding, branching tunnels for quite some time like that, clearing away leaves and vines, plugging holes with ice, attempting to track the snake's progress by its nearly sub-audible hisses. Every now and again, it gave them another fright by abruptly shooting out of a hidden hole, only to slither back into another before they could properly react. The temperature dropped a smidgen with every new application of ice. There was no further sign of the werewolves, and they eventually discovered a second room similar to the first, on what was presumably the opposite side of the maze.

The only routes in or out appeared to be the mouth of the tunnel they had entered by, and a single snake-hole in the very center of the floor which was revealed once they cleared the plants. Logan prepared to freeze it over, but Roman stopped him. “This is the perfect place to make our stand,” he said, “and unless I have forgotten everything I know about game design in the past ten minutes, that hole is exactly where the snake will come out, where we can all four be ready for it.”

“You sound like you have a plan,” said Patton.

“Quite so. I'll wait here by the hole and draw it out. Logan, you stay nearby, and as soon as it's clear of the hole, freeze it over to prevent our rapacious reptile's retreat. Patton and Virgil, you two cover the tunnel to keep it from leaving that way, and between the four of us, we should be able to dispatch it with ease!” He slashed at the air with his sword for emphasis.

“If I'm standing in the doorway and that thing comes at me, I can't promise I won't flinch,” said Virgil.

“I have complete faith in you, our dark and stormy knight,” Roman replied. “Face your fear!”

“Yeah, I do that all the time; it's called 'living.'”

“Then you should be well-suited to this task,” Logan pointed out. “I am slightly more concerned about Patton.”

“I should be all right,” said Patton. “I mean...it's not a _spider_.”

They took up their posts. Roman lowered himself into a crouch beside the hole, one knee turned outward so he could spring away in an instant, and began hammering rhythmically on the ground with his sword hilt. After a time, the hissing sounds drew closer. Four breaths were held.

The hissing stopped.

The  _world_ seemed to hold its breath.

Even though they were anticipating it, it was still a bit of a shock when the snake came rocketing out of the hole, hoisting a good six or eight feet of its length vertically into the air and snapping in Roman's vague direction. He, of course, had already dodged away, flipping his sword into a more battle-ready position in the process. The flashy maneuver held the reptile's attention, and it quickly rippled the rest of the way out into the open in pursuit of him.

The Sides got their first good look at the first major antagonist of the Tower of Flesh. From a safe distance, or perhaps the other side of a sturdy pane of glass, it would have been a handsome creature—patterned not unlike a jaguar, but with the addition of a spot of bright red in the center of each black ring. It was much harder to appreciate its beauty while contending directly with its four-inch fangs and lashing tail.

Roman let it drive him back a few paces, just to make sure it was completely clear of the hole so that Logan could step in and plug it. Patton and Virgil shifted position, taking up as much space as possible to blockade the tunnel.

The plan was working. And it probably  _would_ have worked, if not for simple misfortune.

The snake started out focused on Roman, but it didn't stay that way. The puff of chilly air from Logan's ice bolt alerted it to another threat, and it whipped around to confront him. Acting almost on reflex, he raised his crossbow and squeezed off another bolt, which missed the snake,  _narrowly_ missed Roman, and spread another patch of ice on the wall behind him.

“Watch it!” Roman barked, genuinely rattled by the close call. “Maybe put the original string back on for the rest of this fight!”

“As soon as I have some breathing room!” Logan responded, holding the crossbow up as a shield. The snake was not as affected by the ambient chill as he had predicted, probably because it was so massive; it remained quick and alert.

Roman darted in and slashed at the snake's tail. It countered by swiping his legs out from under him, but it had to take its attention off Logan for a split second to do so, and in that split second, he turned and began running around the perimeter of the room, fiddling with his crossbow as he went. The snake gave chase, but it wasn't  _quite_ as fast as a sprinting man, and the proximity to the wall hampered its undulating motions. By the time he got the string changed, Logan had put enough distance between himself and his pursuer that he felt safe suddenly juking to the side, straight across the middle of the chamber. His plan was to spin around mid-step and put a bolt through the snake's head at close range...

...but his foot hit the ice covering the hole and skidded out from under him.

The only reason the snake didn't get its teeth into him in the very next instant was that Patton dropped everything he was carrying and broke ranks in order to lunge and grab its tail and haul backwards with all his might.

Enraged, the animal turned on him, throwing two immobilizing coils around his body and sinking its fangs into his shoulder up to the roots.

Patton made a mewling cry of pain, matched by the shouts of utter horror from the other three. Roman followed his up with a scream of pure fury, rising to his feet like an avenging angel and _hurling_ his sword. It tumbled end-over-end through the air and hit home in one of the beast's eyes, but didn’t go deep enough for a kill, and the half-blinded monster released Patton and fled, ignoring Virgil altogether as it slid off into the maze of corridors. While Roman, still screaming, ran off in pursuit, the moral Side staggered a few paces, clutching at his shoulder, and then crumpled.

“Dad!” Virgil exclaimed, running to him, grabbing the satchel on the way. He cradled Patton’s upper body, regarding the punctures in his tunic with dismay. There was some blood, but not much—the flesh had quickly become inflamed, pinching off the wounds. Logan finally managed to pick himself up and join them.

“Virgil, the—”

“Antitoxin, yeah,” Virgil said, digging in the satchel.

“Hurts,” Patton murmured. “It _hurts_.”

“We know,” Logan said softly.

Virgil found the right vial, uncorked it, and held it to Patton’s lips. “Drink,” he said shakily.

“Sit him up a little more,” Logan suggested, still in that feather-soft tone.

They managed to get Patton to swallow the potion, but he continued to whimper. Every so often, another shriek of rage from Roman echoed out of the corridor maze. “How long do you think it’ll take?” asked Virgil.

“It should have been just about instantaneous, shouldn’t it?” said Logan. “Try giving him another dose.” Virgil did, and after a moment Logan asked, “Patton? Are you feeling any better?”

“No,” Patton moaned. “Still hurts. Hurts _more_.”

Suddenly his eyes flew wide and a scream of anguish tore from his throat, cutting off in the middle as his body spasmed under the effect of the snake’s venom. “Hang on, Patton! Hang on!” Virgil begged, holding him tightly to mitigate the convulsions. “Logan, why isn’t it working?”

Logan was already flipping frantically through the log. He found the entry for the Antitoxin and, right underneath it, a nearly identical one that wasn’t filled in yet. He was instantly reminded of the entries for the Restorative and Full Restorative.

“It’s not strong enough,” he said. “We need to make a more powerful one. Roman!”

Patton's fit subsided, but he was clearly deteriorating fast. His eyes wouldn't focus. “K-kiddo?”

“I'm right here, Pat,” said Virgil, ruffling his sweat-dampened hair. “I've still got you.”

“Don't go anywhere, okay?”

“I won't!” Virgil wailed, tears spilling over.

“ _Roman!_ ” Logan called again.

Roman returned, grim-faced, dragging his sword. It and he were both spattered with blood. It didn't appear to be his. “It's dead,” he reported.

“Well done,” said Logan. “Did it drop anything? I think we need a...a venom gland, or something along those lines.”

“I didn't check. I'll be right back.” He dashed back into the corridors.

“ _Please_ hurry,” said Virgil. In his arms, Patton began to have another spasm.

It was marginally less intense than the first, and he came down from it after a moment. “S-still here, Virge?”

“Yeah,” said Virgil. “I promise I'm not going anywhere. We're gonna fix you up, okay?”

Patton managed a weak smile. “L...luh...luh... _love you_ ...kiddo.”

“I love you too.”

“And Roman. And Logan. I love all of you.” The words came out clipped and a little thick, as if his throat wasn't working right. 

The realization of what his desperate statement signified hit Virgil like a truck. His vision started to go white and he forced it back. “ Wait…Patton…don’t you go anywhere either! You stay right here!” He seized Patton’s hand, squeezing it as if his grip were the only thing holding the other Side in place.

Still wearing that little smile, Patton shook his head slightly, with an air of apology, and squeezed back. Then his breath hitched and he went completely limp.

Roman reappeared just in time to see Patton’s head sag backwards over Virgil’s arm with a terrible finality.

“Pat…?” Virgil said. “ _ **Pat?!**_ ” His voice reverberated.

Logan’s hand flew to Patton’s neck, fingertips searching, probing. “No, dammit,  _no_ !” he muttered. “Virgil, lay him down.” Once Patton was flat on the floor, Logan felt for a pulse again, and listened at his chest for good measure. He shifted position, preparing to administer chest compressions…but before he could begin, Patton’s body  _vanished_ , turning to smoke and drifting away just like most of the monsters they had dispatched.

Logan sat back on his heels, bewildered and horrified and frightened.

Roman dropped to his knees, stunned and devastated.

Virgil lifted his head toward the ceiling and screamed.

And screamed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Safe in his bed, Thomas Sanders began to toss and whimper. His body was too deeply asleep for him to wake, his mind hovering just below dream-awareness, and so what took hold of him was not quite a nightmare...but a night-terror.

Pure fear, devoid of context or meaning.

 


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well...shit. Now what? (Never assume that you can't move forward.)

They should have pulled together. It would have been healthier. It would have _felt_ better. But they didn't know _how_. Patton was—had been—the one who always pulled them together in times of crisis.

Logan sat back against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest. He was not crying, but he kept his lips pressed tightly together, not trusting what might slip out if he relaxed. He could not stop  _thinking_ , but all he could think of were reasons why this should not be happening. It was only a video game scenario, so Patton should be able to come back, and even if the game didn't include an “extra lives” mechanic it was only a dream, so he should just have been ejected back into the mindscape proper and as soon as they got out they would find him alive and well and whole and smiling, and anyway they weren't even physical beings to begin with and nothing in the mindscape should be able to do them lasting harm, certainly not fatal harm, so  _why did it hurt so much?_ Why did he feel like he had swallowed one of his ice bolts? Did his...his  _feelings_ know something he didn't? Every time he tried to close in on the answer, a wave of horror and grief would sweep over him and start him spiralling again.  _No, no, no..._

Roman paced and paced around the room, his own grief locked in some kind of vicious dance with self-loathing.  _He_ had failed to slay the snake quickly.  _He_ hadn't thought to search its carcass for item drops, losing precious seconds while the venom was eating Patton from the inside.  _He_ had made this deadly dream in the first place, because  _he_ had been lazy and impatient instead of taking the time to construct one out of different thought-fragments that would have allowed them to escape early on.

He had moved from kicking the wall every few paces to punching it, and his knuckles were bruised and bleeding but he didn't care. He deserved the pain, and anyway it distracted him, ever so slightly, from the gaping hole in his heart.

Virgil lay still, curled in on himself, on the spot where Patton had been when he...disappeared. He had long since cried himself dry and screamed his voice away, and now simply stared at nothing through swollen eyes, his face burned red from the salt, too exhausted to manage the periodic sobs that bubbled up in his raw, abraded throat and practically choked him with misery.

They should have pulled together. But they didn't know how, and so each of them was left alone to mourn. Alone, despite all three of them being in the same room.

There was no telling how long, precisely, they remained in that state. It could have been anywhere from ten minutes to an hour; time had no meaning. But eventually, there came a soft sound from somewhere in the tunnels.

In a flash, Roman stopped pacing, put the mental self-flagellation on hold, and took up a defensive posture, closer to the tunnel mouth than the other two, sword at the ready. Tears were still spilling down his cheeks, and his hands were trembling, but he would be  _damned_ to _hell_ if he would let another threat get anywhere near his remaining family.

The sound resolved into approaching footsteps. Roman steadied himself. Logan blinked, shaking himself out of his thought spiral, and snapped his attention to the tunnel entrance, but did not otherwise react. Virgil did not respond at all, did not even appear to notice that Roman had moved, much less the subtler changes in the room.

Then the new arrival came into view...and it was Patton, looking sheepish. He started to speak but promptly cut himself off, taking in the scene. His face fell and he clasped his hands over his heart. “Oh...”

Logan's eyes widened and he finally allowed his tears to fall. He started to rise to his feet.

“Don't,” Roman said hoarsely, inching closer to the tunnel mouth without lowering his sword. “We...we dare not take this at face value.”

“Roman, what...” said Patton (unless it wasn't really Patton).

“Roman...?” said Logan.

Virgil still did not move or react.

“It would be just like this place,” Roman said carefully, his eyes fixed on Patton (unless it wasn't really Patton), “to try and trick us when we are as emotionally compromised as we have _ever_ been.”

“What are you saying?” said Patton ( _unless_ ). “Do you think I'm not really me?”

“ _I watched you die!_ ” Roman barked.

“It's a video game, remember? I re-spawned back at the save point.”

Roman held his ground, and now Virgil finally stirred and took notice of his surroundings. His intake of breath when he spied Patton ( _unless_ ) was so sharp that it made him light-headed. A dry, nearly silent sob exploded from his lungs. “pat” he mouthed, his voice useless.

“I know, Virgil, but _wait_ ,” said Roman, his voice breaking a little. “Wait until we're _sure_.”

Logan slowly stood up, his face grave. “I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt here, Patton...but...I need to know...where is your crystal bracelet? You were so fond of it...”

Patton ( _unless_ ) looked puzzled. “What bracelet? The crystal's on a necklace.” One hand moved to swipe at his chest under his cloak. “Oh, no, it's missing! When did that happen?” He started looking around the floor.

Logan let out a shaky breath. “It's him.”

Roman's sword clattered to the floor and he  _flung_ himself at Patton (it was definitely Patton). Virgil was right behind him, scrambling animalistically on all fours, his face contorted with the peculiar anguish of abject grief short-circuited by unexpected joy. He hit Patton and Roman low, near the hips, and all three of them toppled into a pile of desperate affection. Roman hugged Patton until his ribs creaked, and Virgil's chest heaved with rasping sobs as he clung to the moral Side.

“That's my kiddos,” Patton said gently, wheezing slightly under the pressure of the hug. “C'mere, Logan, you need some of this too. You can be a kiddo for a little bit.” He managed to heave the whole assemblage up into something approximating a sitting position and beckoned with one arm.

Logan, arms wrapped around his torso as though he were physically holding himself together, walked stiffly over to the group, lowered himself to his knees, and awkwardly joined the hug from the side. He didn't say a word, but his breaths trembled in the air.

They stayed like that for some time—finally pulled together in the most literal sense—before Patton spoke. “All my sweet kiddos...” he said, his voice cracking just a little. “I'm so  _sorry_ . I hope you know I would  _never_ do that to you on purpose.”

“I'm the one who should apologize,” said Roman. “I should have—” 

“shut up roman” Virgil croaked.

“Oh, Virge, your throat,” said Patton.

“He's almost certainly dehydrated as well,” Logan said gently. “He took it very, _very_ hard.”

“taking things hard is my job” Virgil rasped, coughing slightly.

“Sssshhhhh...” said Patton. “You'll only hurt your throat more. If you're all ready to let go, I'll see what I can do for that. For all of you.”

It took some more coaxing to peel them all away from the embrace. Logan retrieved the satchel and took out the log in order to peruse it while Patton investigated the other contents. “It's too bad there's no drinking water in here. But I'm sure I can make something good out of the stuff we got from smushing all those plants.”

Roman cleared his throat. “You probably weren't aware of it at the time, but I did avenge you, Patton.” Patton pulled a lopsided face. “And I acquired this,” Roman added hastily, holding out something about the size, color, and consistency of a rotten mango. Patton's disturbed expression intensified.

“Is that the venom gland?” asked Logan.

“I assume so. It's basically a bigger version of what we've been getting from the lizards.”

Patton held out the crucible at arm's length. “You can just go right ahead and drop that in here, Roman...'cause I ain't touching it.”

“I don't blame you,” said Roman. The gland was much larger than the mouth of the flask, but the magic, or video game rules, or whatever, by which the process operated ensured that it fell right in. With Logan advising based on the new log entries, Patton plunked in a few more components, gave the crucible a shake, and with evident delight, withdrew a small crystalline bottle with an elaborate conical stopper that resembled nothing so much as a lotus seedpod.

Logan flipped pages and found it. “'Elixir of Wellness,'” he read. “'Restores all health and removes adverse status conditions.' It's a pity we can't make enough for all of us.”

Patton palmed the bottle thoughtfully. “Actually,” he said, “I think maybe I just did. Who's up to continue our group hug?”

Virgil hadn't gone far to begin with, and he immediately tucked himself against Patton's side. The other two drew close, and Patton tossed the bottle—the Elixir—up into the air, willing it to activate. It slowly rotated until it was upside-down and began to sway back and forth in mid-air like a bell, sprinkling its contents through the perforations in the stopper like a shower head. A shimmering, misty substance rained down, bringing a sensation that was at one and the same time warm and cool and slightly electric. It washed away the hurts of body and soul alike, leaving only blessed equilibrium and peace in its wake. In that moment, in the fullest sense of the phrase,  _all was well_ .

The bottle righted itself and began to drift back down toward Patton's upraised hand.

“Remarkable...” Logan breathed.

“Padre...” Roman said, thoroughly impressed, “you are getting _really good_ at this.”

Patton beamed as he plucked the bottle from the air.

Virgil took a deep breath and released it. “Testing...” he said. The hoarseness was gone from this throat, as was the soreness. His eyes were no longer red and puffy, and he actually felt...not calm, exactly, it probably wasn't possible for him to be completely calm, but he felt  _settled_ . The emotional roller coaster had eased to a stop. Soon it would pick up an entirely new load of passengers and be off again, but he could deal with that when the time came.

Patton held the bottle up to eye level and shook it. “I think there's still some in here. Could come in handy later on, don't you think? And in the meantime, I’ve still got this pretty bottle! Still wish I knew what happened to the necklace, though.”

“Oh, dear,” said Logan. “I’ve suddenly had a…an intuitive leap. I think the vernacular term is a _hunch_? I dislike using this method of deduction, although it does have its place in the sciences, but—“

“Spit it out, Stephen Squawking!” Roman blurted. “Sorry, that came out harsher than I meant it.”

“Yes, just give me a moment to confirm…” Logan said, flipping through the log again. He found the entry he was looking for, and his expression grew…not grave, exactly, but somewhat serious. “As I suspected,” he said. “Patton, you no longer have the Soul Crystal because you…used it up, coming back. It was an extra life.”

“Of course,” said Roman. “We should have seen this coming, with a name like _Soul Crystal_.”

Patton’s eyes widened...but not half as much as Virgil’s. “We need to make more of them. Now. As many as we can. Even if we have to go out and kill every rat and lizard in this place five times over to get enough ingredients.”

“That’s just it, Virge, I don’t think we _can_ make any more. Remember the tall skeleton with the jewel eye?”

“Megalossolops,” Roman muttered.

“I used the jewel eye to make it,” Patton explained. “Mini-bosses don’t respawn, and even if they did, that tower is gone now.”

Virgil closed his eyes and ran a hand down his face. “Then…we’re done,” he said. “We’re not playing anymore. We’re staying right here in this room until Thomas wakes up.”

“I have to agree with Virgil,” said Logan. “Thomas is an adult and his overall mental health is sound. He can withstand one night of bad dreams. His ability to recover from the loss of one of us is far less certain, and our confidence that we can all survive the ordeal has taken quite a blow.”

“It’s still only a dream,” Roman pointed out, although he didn’t sound convinced of his own words.

“Not good enough,” said Virgil, shaking his head emphatically. “And it’s more than that. I…I can’t…” He started tearing up again. (Hello, roller coaster...)

“You can’t go through that again,” Patton filled in.

Virgil changed from shaking his head to nodding and hugged himself hard. Patton draped a comforting arm over his shoulders. “It’s too much to even think about,” Virgil muttered.

“You make a fair point,” said Roman with a sigh. “Very well, we stay here. This room is defensible enough, and we can try for some more weapon upgrades in case anything _does_ show up.”

Patton was just going for the satchel again when light suddenly bloomed up through the hole in the floor, diffusing through the ice. Cracks spread through the frozen patch and in the next moment, it shattered.

“Okay,” said Roman, “we deal with whatever _this_ is, and _then_ we try for some weapon upgrades, and then we hunker down and wait this out. I mean...how long can Thomas sleep in anyway? He's a busy guy.”

“Dude, don't jinx it,” said Virgil, getting to his feet and unsheathing his knives.

The miniature moon rose up through the newly opened hole, pulsing like a beacon. Almost immediately, they heard wolf howls reverberating through the corridors— _loud_ , snarling howls.

“Oh, that doesn't sound happy...” said Patton.

“They can't possibly be angry with us!” Roman protested. “We killed the snake—wasn't that what they wanted?”

“Perhaps we misinterpreted the situation,” said Logan.

“We'd better figure it out and _fast_ ,” said Virgil as the noises grew closer. “A defensible space is no good if you have to share it with a pack of angry werewolves.”

Logan was already scanning the room, eyes sweeping methodically over its surfaces. He spotted something on the ceiling—something that was only visible when the light from the orb pulsed. It looked like another one of the fungal growths, but different somehow. Denser, maybe. And it hadn't been cleared out with the leaves and vines when he had used ice earlier, so...

“Get to the edges of the room!” Logan commanded, already in motion himself. He pressed himself back against the wall as he changed the string on his crossbow. He took aim, refined his aim through the next few pulses of light, and loosed the bolt.

It struck. The growth exploded with a wave of heat and pressure. When the dust cleared enough for marginal visibility, there was a gaping hole in the ceiling, and a makeshift staircase of rubble leading up to it. A narrow shaft rose into the gloom, its sides coated with a lattice of some kind of slimy fibers. The orb floated up into it, its light glistening on the gooey web.

The howls drew ever closer, and were joined by the grinding noise of claws raking across stone.

Virgil, who had thrown himself to the floor, peeked out from the shelter of his arms. “Time to go!” he announced, picking himself up and waving the others toward the new escape route.

Patton reached it first, but Virgil pulled him back a little. “No you don't, you're staying with me. Roman, you'd better go first—if anything's waiting for us at the top...”

“I hear you,” said Roman, adjusting his sword sheath so that he could draw in tight quarters if necessary. He nimbly scaled the rubble heap, hooked his fingers into the webbing, and started to climb. Logan followed, then Patton—hastily tying a corner of his cloak around his staff—and Virgil brought up the rear, making it just as the werewolves arrived, snapping foam-flecked jaws. He kicked down the top of the rubble heap as he pulled himself into the shaft and hoped it would be enough to dissuade the monsters from following.

It wasn't, not quite. They were able to leap the vertical distance between the shorter heap and the bottom of the shaft. It would have been all over, except that the werewolves were a little too broad of build to fit comfortably in the tight space, and their razor claws had a tendency to slash the webbing, ruining their handholds. The disadvantages more-or-less canceled out their immensely greater strength and speed, and the Sides were able to maintain a slim lead until they reached the top of the shaft and climbed out onto the new level.

It was also the top of the Tower of Flesh.

Like the Tower of Bones, this tower terminated in a broad platform surrounded by a low wall that cut down on crosswinds. Also like the Tower of Bones, it was liberally strewn with its namesake—heaps and slabs of raw meat, many large enough to have been carved from the flanks of a brontosaurus. It wasn't rotten—somehow—but there was a very strong butcher-shop smell.

The orb hovered overhead, still pulsing.

A hairy, taloned paw-hand slapped up over the edge of the shaft, and the first of the werewolves struggled out onto the platform. The Sides backed away hastily, discovering to their chagrin that the scattered chunks of meat made their footing less secure than they would have liked.

Patton stooped to pick up a piece and tossed it underhand toward the beast. “Look, pretty puppy! Lots of yummy food up here! You don't need to eat us!” But the gesture only seemed to infuriate it; it pounced on a nearby lump of flesh and shredded it with its claws, then turned back toward the group and let out a shrieking roar. Meanwhile, it's compatriots were arriving one after another: five werewolves in total, all of them spitting mad.

They were outnumbered, by monsters that would be tough to beat even if they  _weren't_ . There was nowhere left to run.

 


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final confrontation with the werewolf pack!

The werewolves weren't attacking yet—at present they were attacking random lumps of meat as if personally offended by them—but it could only be a matter of time, and not much time at that.

Virgil drew a sharp breath. “Patton, fi **nd cover** ,” he said, the echo creeping into his voice.

“Where, behind the meat? Because kiddo, I don't think that's gonna do it.”

“ **Stay safe, dammit!** ”

“I think it would be wise if we all took cover,” said Logan, taking Patton by the arm. The four of them hustled to the far edge of the area, putting several grisly obstacles between themselves and the werewolves.

“Why don't they just eat the meat?” said Roman in a hushed tone. “They ate the zombies, and this stuff is fresh.”

“Maybe they spoiled their dinner and they're not hungry,” said Patton.

“This goes beyond that,” Logan said, peering around the side of their shelter with his crossbow at the ready. “Something is enraging them.”

“Oh come on, when are werewolves ever _not_ angry?” said Roman. “Isn't the entire point of a werewolf that it is an uncontrolled raging beast?”

“ _Focus_ , guys,” said Virgil. “We don't need to psychoanalyze them; we need to defeat them!”

“It's a pity we don't have any silver weapons,” said Roman. “Unless...Patton, how's the crucible?”

“Good to go at least once, but I don't see how anything I have could produce silver.”

“Give it a try anyway. We'll stand guard.”

Logan made a brief shout and loosed a crossbow bolt before ducking back behind full cover. He didn't see where it hit the onrushing werewolf he had been aiming at, but the shrieking yelp proved that he _did_ hit it.

“Hey, guys? What about this?” said Patton. He held up a spool on which was wound a familiar silvery cord. “Roman, you said this was used to tame a wolf in mythology, right?”

“Yeah, okay, taking that option off the table _right_ now,” said Virgil. “Even under ideal circumstances, you couldn't 'tame' all of them at once, and the leftovers would eat your face while you were occupied.”

Logan rubbed his chin. “It's silver, and it's a string. How's the tension?”

“Well, we're all pretty tense right now...” said Patton.

“Never mind. May I see it?”

Patton handed over the spool, and Logan unrolled a length of it, broke it off...and installed it in his crossbow. It immediately began to shimmer along its length, as if it were made of tiny fiber optic cables. Logan glanced out from behind the shelter again.

The werewolves were fanning out, moving on all fours and sniffing the ground intently. Logan was sure the overwhelming smell of fresh raw meat must be masking the group's scents for the time being, but it wouldn't last forever. One of them appeared to be limping: the one he had already shot. He carefully took aim and shot again.

A dart of pure light crossed the space between them, and the werewolf's foreleg—or arm, as the case might be—erupted in white flames. The beast let out a resounding, howling shriek and, while Logan watched in horror, took hold of the burning arm with the other one and _ripped it clean off_.

Logan turned back to the others, his gorge rising.

“What in the gosh-heck _happened_ , Logan?” said Roman.

Before he could answer, Virgil screamed, skidding backwards. One of the werewolves had seized his hood in its teeth and was dragging him away. He flailed, drew his normal knife, and struck awkwardly behind his head, scoring a slash along its muzzle...but it only snarled, refusing to let go.

“No! Virge!” Patton cried, rushing forward with his staff upraised. He brought it down smartly on the werewolf's head once, twice...and then Roman came in from the side and sunk a good three or four inches of Japanese steel between its ribs. Between the creature's size and the fact that it wasn't a _silver_ sword, it wasn't a fatal strike, but it did induce the werewolf to drop Virgil and retreat on three legs, pressing a hand-paw to its side.

“Kiddo, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Virgil panted, staggering to his feet. “Let's get out of here.”

“He's right,” said Logan. “This was a decent place to hide, but it's a terrible place to be cornered.”

They cautiously moved back out onto the open floor, weapons at the ready. The werewolves were milling about, no less angry at a cursory look, but perhaps a bit more cautious. The stabbed one was healing up, but limping, while the one Logan had shot lurched about bipedally, off-balance due to the loss of its arm.

Patton winced at the sight. “We really hurt them,” he observed distantly.

“It was self-defense, Pat,” said Virgil.

The largest of them—the pack leader—took up a position near the middle of the group and raised its head in an earsplitting howl. In response, the orb overhead pulsed ever more strongly, its light taking on a sickly greenish tint. The werewolves clustered close around their leader, answering with their own howls to create a dissonant chord. The sound reverberated through the space until the very stones underfoot were quivering with unpleasant harmonics.

And then the werewolves...merged. With the light from the orb washing over their fur so that they seemed to take on a faint glow of their own, they raised their arms (nine total) and while the Sides stared in horrified disgust, _walked into each other_. Five discrete creatures melded into a shifting mass of fur and limbs that squirmed and writhed, mounding up, taking shape...

“ _Holy Hindu-Hellenic hybrid..._ ” Roman breathed, and his choice of words reflected far more than his penchant for alliteration. The monster that reared up before them, standing as tall as a house in the lurid, strobing light of the orb, resembled nothing so much as as the offspring of Cerberus and Shiva. Three slavering heads branched off a single massive neck, four clawed and shaggy arms raked at the air. It fell forward into a hexapodal stance with a crash that shook the tower, a lupine abomination the size of a mature white rhinoceros...but with a much greater number of entirely lethal appendages.

Logan raised his crossbow, but something was amiss. With dismay, he realized that the piece of Gleipnir he had installed as a string was gone. Nothing could have wrenched it off in the meantime, which meant it had to be a one-use item.

“Patton,” he said in a low tone, taking a few steps back while the conglomerate monster got its bearings, “I need the spool again.”

Patton started to hold it out, then withdrew his hand in a startled jump as the monster shrieked its rage to the sky. It was slightly favoring one of its arms—roughly analogous to the one that had been torn off one of the werewolves, as if the missing piece weakened it—and in a fit of frustration or pain, one of its heads snapped at the offending limb.

“Patton?” Logan said again.

Patton shook his head. “No. I...don't think that's what it needs.”

“Who cares what _it_ needs?” Roman scoffed. “In case you hadn't noticed, Patton, that _thing_ is our enemy! An enemy made of other, smaller (but still entirely too large) enemies! That's a lot of enemy! And that string of yours is the _one_ thing we have that seems to affect it much!”

“I know...but do we have to affect it by _hurting_ it? It's already hurting. Look at it.”

“Patton,” Virgil said through gritted teeth, “if you even _think_ about doing something as stupid as...as trying to make _friends_ with that thing...I am taking that spool away from you and tying _you_ up **with it until you come to your senses!** ”

The monster roared again, clawing at the ground and leaving four sets of parallel gouge marks. It seemed to be orienting itself. “Patton, the spool! Please,” said Logan.

Patton bit his lip for a long moment, then set his jaw and, just as the beast finished pulling itself together and fixed its triple gaze upon the Sides, called out “Cover me! I've got a plan! And _don't hurt it_!” and sprinted back behind the shelter of the large slab of meat.

“ **Patton!** ” Virgil protested, but there was nothing for it. He shook his head, grimacing, and turned back to face the impending attack.

“I'm going to—when he comes back—I— _very strong words_ ,” Logan declared.

“Put your Fire String back on,” said Roman, stepping slightly in front of the other two and adopting a defensive stance. “It's better than nothing.”

“Three heads and three of us,” Virgil groaned. “I'm not crazy about these odds.”

“We should encircle it—them—and keep moving,” said Logan. “Force their attention to keep shifting.”

“'Their?'” said Roman. “You think it's non-binary?”

“I think they're _plural_ ,” said Logan. “Multiple heads, multiple brains, multiple discrete subjectivities.”

“I'm more worried about the multiple heads, multiple _mouths_ and multiple arms, multiple claws,” said Virgil. But he obligingly crept around to one side of the beast (or beasts) while Logan took up the other flank and Roman remained facing the three snapping heads.

But not for long—as planned, they began circling the monster(s), shouting and jabbing, keeping it/them in a constant state of distraction. If it/they lunged at Roman, Logan would send a shaft of fire along the tails (like the heads, there were three), if the response to _that_ was a taloned swipe at Logan, Virgil would dart in and slash at an unguarded paw with his knives, and so on. They went on like this for several moments, until...

“Hey!” came a shout from near the edge of the arena. Patton stepped out from his hiding space, jaw set with determination, holding one fist aloft. Brilliant silver light leaked through the gaps between his fingers.

Three shaggy heads whipped toward him, and a triple growl shook the Tower of Flesh to its very foundations.

Patton, trembling slightly but keeping his head up, slowly approached the monster. It (or they) wheeled around, forcing the other three to duck the swinging tails, and came forward to meet him, still growling, but the aggression seemed...subdued. Patton opened his hand, and something uncoiled from it, remaining suspended by one end wedged between two of his fingers. It was a shining cord with three loops in it.

“Come here, doggie,” he said in soothing tones, raising his other hand carefully (his staff was tucked under his arm). “It's okay. Everything's gonna be okay.”

“Patton...what are yo **u doing?** ” asked Virgil.

“It's all right, Virge,” said Patton. “I've got a plan...and I checked with the book and I think it's gonna work.”

He continued his slow approach to the snarling monster, which moved equally slowly toward him. Patton continued to murmur calming words, and once they were an arm's length apart, he set his staff down and tentatively reached toward the central head. It snapped at him, but half-heartedly; he only had to draw his hand back a little. Then, with the dexterity of an experienced parent wrangling toddlers, Patton brought up the glowing looped cord, maneuvered one loop around each snout, and pulled the ends taut.

The monster jerked back, shaking its heads, but the cord was secure. It had been effectively muzzled. The growls segued into soft whines as it settled down, lowering itself onto its belly.

“I bet you don't feel too good, huh champ?” said Patton. “It's gonna be okay though. I got something for that.” And he reached into the satchel and brought out the crystalline bottle containing what remained of the Elixir of Wellness.

“Er...Patton?” Roman said uncertainly.

Patton gave him a smile before releasing the bottle, which shook out its shimmering contents over the were-Cerberus-Shiva (they were going to have to look it up in the log book). Logan sighed and pushed up his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “He says he knows what he's doing...” Virgil muttered.

The light from the muzzle, and from the elixir, seemed to cling to the beast's fur—indeed, to spread over it, competing with the sickly light from the orb overhead. Once it had completely covered the monstrous form, there was a burst of radiance that washed over the entire space. When that dissipated, it left in its wake two important differences.

The orb's light had changed again, to a soft gold-white like that of fairy lights.

And the three-headed, six-limbed wolf-monster had reverted to being five individual werewolves, which were slowly getting up and shaking themselves. The one had regrown its missing arm. They all still looked unhappy and on-edge, but the raw savagery was absent.

“There, isn't that better?” said Patton. He turned to face the other Sides. “Something about this place was making them crazy. They didn't want to be our enemies, but they couldn't help it.”

“How do you _know_ that?” Roman blurted.

Patton shrugged, picking up his staff again. “Intuition, I guess. Hey, get it? Intuition, _I guess_? Because intuition is kind of like guessing?”

The alpha werewolf took up a position near the center of the space and howled to the sky—not the vicious snarling howls it had used before, but a gentler sound. The orb floated down, pulsing lazily, before drifting toward Patton. He lifted a hand to touch it, halfway mesmerized, and it bobbed out of the way...and settled into place on the end of his staff. The wood sprouted, growing three branches which curled around the orb, locking it into place.

Patton turned to face the werewolves. “Are you...giving me this?” he asked. The alpha flicked an ear, possibly indicating an affirmative answer.

Just then, the Tower of Flesh began to glow and tremble, the same way the Tower of Bones had after they beat its final boss. The alpha werewolf howled again, and the entire pack fled back toward the hole that had led them there in the first place. “Wait!” Patton called after them. “You won't...aw, they're gone. Do you think they'll make it out in time?”

“I think it's no longer our problem,” said Logan as the four them drew close together. The light flared, and they found themselves in the courtyard once again, watching as the tower crumbled. Unlike the Tower of Bones, which had cracked and fallen to bits like dry, well, _bones_ , this one gave an impression more of sagging and jellifying. Yet in the end it was the same—its remains lay heaped on the ground, marking their success like a reverse monument. Of the werewolves, there was no sign.

“So where to now?” said Patton.

“The Tower of Blood should be next, shouldn't it?” said Roman.

“Except,” Virgil pointed out, “that we weren't going to continue, because this game is getting too dangerous. We only went through all that with the werewolves because they had us backed into a corner, but now...” He spread his hands meaningfully.

“Hm, yes,” Roman conceded. “Much as I _detest_ abandoning a quest in the middle, it does seem to be the wisest course of action for us. But as long as we're just hanging out, I am _wildly_ curious about this new upgrade to Patton's staff! What does the log book say?”

They got the book out and paged through it until they found the right entry. “It says it's called the Moon Orb,” said Patton. “No surprises there, right? It can...huh! I'll be able to communicate directly with the werewolves if they show up again! Yay! Doggies!”

Logan rolled his eyes, but he was smiling with good-natured tolerance.

“And it also says the Moon Orb can store...” he followed the writing with his finger, “...con-su-ma...oh, consumable! alchemical products and release them as spells!”

“Having more options is always beneficial, I suppose,” said Logan. “It's almost a pity we're not likely to get a chance to...” He broke off suddenly, looking up at the sky. The grimy twilight was brightening.

“Oh great, _now_ what?” said Virgil.

“Nothing bad, I assure you,” said Logan. “Thomas is waking up. I intend to have words with him about obsessing before bedtime.”

The ground began to roll under them like a very slow earthquake. The sky continued to brighten, and some of the cloud cover even broke, revealing a pink morning sky beyond. They braced themselves in anticipation of being expelled from the dreamscape...but nothing of the kind happened. The ground settled back into stillness, and although the sky remained relatively light, the clouds tumbled back together.

“Uh...what just happened?” said Patton. “Did our kiddo fall back asleep without waking up properly?”

“O...kay,” said Roman. “Now, no one get upset...this does happen from time to time...”

“ _What_ ,” Virgil growled.

“It appears the dream was _so_ vivid,” Roman continued, “that Thomas is still thinking about it now that he's awake. He flipped straight from dream to daydream without a hitch.”

“So we're still trapped here then,” said Logan. It wasn't a question.

“At least until another major shift in Thomas's mental state. But look at the bright side! That could happen at any point! Or he might summon us to help him with one of his neverending parade of dilemmas! On the downside, however...if we were unlikely to find a crack in the dream while Thomas was asleep, we almost certainly won't find one now that he's awake. Waking thoughts tend to be so much more coherent than sleeping dreams.”

“Does that even matter?” said Virgil. “We're not looking for a way out anymore.”

Roman made a drawn-out noise somewhere between a hum, a groan, and a sigh.

“Oh, jeez,” said Virgil. “If you tell us the only way to get Thomas to stop thinking about that damn game is to keep going until the end, I am gonna lose it.”

“Well, we can't have that,” Roman said through his teeth. “Logan, what is on Thomas's agenda for today? If there's something coming up that will distract him from all of this, then our worries are over.”

Logan blinked. “There's nothing in particular on his agenda. He knew the livestream would take a lot out of him and set aside the day after for resting and 'vegging out,'” He made exaggerated air quotes.

“I see. Given that this is the case, would you please convey the following message to Virgil?”

“I get it, all right?” Virgil blurted. “We have to keep going. I should have known better than...” He trailed off, face twisting, and walked a short distance away to sit heavily on a slab of stone and rest his head in his hands.

“I'll go talk to him,” Patton said softly. He approached slowly and cleared his throat while he was still a few arm-lengths away.

“Yeah?” Virgil mumbled.

“It's gonna be okay, Virge.”

“ _No_ , it's not! This dream—daydream—whatever—is _forcing_ us in **to dangerous situations!** **And we can't make another Soul Gem and we can't make other Elixir of Wellness and** _ **I can't protect you guys**_ **!** ” The reverberation grew powerful enough to make Patton flinch, but he stayed put.

“Virgil...have you considered...that maybe you don't have to?”

Virgil looked up. “What do you mean? It's literally my job. I'm supposed to spot danger—sometimes when it isn't even there—so Thomas and all of you stay safe. That's what I _do_.”

“And believe me, kiddo, I am grateful every day that we have someone as _Virgil_ -ant as you on the job. But this is a real unusual situation and it's okay if you need us to pick up the slack. We can all keep each other safe. We'll be extra-careful and now that I've got the Moon Orb it should be easier to use healing items.”

“Right,” Virgil said, running his hands through his hair. He closed his eyes and spent a few moments on his four-seven-eight breathing exercise. “Okay. I'm ready. Let's do this. Tower of Blood, right?”

Logan and Roman had joined Patton in the meantime. “Tower of Blood,” Roman said with a gleam in his eye.

 


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Tower of Blood, the Vampire Lord rules all. It will take brains to defeat him...in more ways than one!

Thomas's hands shook slightly as he poured himself a bowl of oat bran (Logan had insisted he buy it instead of Lucky Charms, and Roman had actually backed him up on the grounds that it would help Thomas keep a trim figure). The milk slopped a little on the counter top. He couldn't remember dreaming, but he had a nagging sense that something had rattled him to his core without him ever being aware of it. Could a forgotten dream have that effect? Probably.

And he still couldn't stop thinking about _Stygia's Towers_.

His spoon clinking against the side of the bowl reminded him of clanging weapons, and the cereal crunched in his mouth like bone fragments underfoot. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that all-too-familiar equipment screen. He worried that he was obsessing.

He knew he should call up the Sides on the matter. This was exactly the sort of minor issue they were stars at helping him with. And he would.

He would.

Right after he found a good walkthrough on GameFAQs.

 

* * *

 

There was this to say about the Tower of Blood: It had a certain style.

The Tower of Bones had been architecturally ridiculous, with its chalk masonry and embedded bones. The Tower of Flesh could have done with a good pressure-wash.

The Tower of Blood, by comparison, was practically _elegant_ . It was made entirely of dark gray stone, all Gothic arches and severe parapets and snarling gargoyles—grim, but also...kinda... _cool_ . And it was certainly the most _plausible_ of the towers the Sides had visited so far. The first two were ridiculous and would never stay standing outside the realm of the mind. The Tower of Blood looked like something that might conceivably exist in the physical world.

Except for the moat.

Which was filled with blood.

Because of course it was.

“It's not _real_ blood, is it?” said Logan. “It can't be; it would have coagulated long ago.”

“It smells real enough,” said Virgil, wrinkling his nose against the sharp coppery scent that had his own blood racing a little. “Maybe they send a monster out once a week to change the filters and dump a bucket of Warfarin in there.”

“Or _maybe_ ,” said Roman, “it's _magic_. I mean, hello? This is a fantasy setting?”

“I dislike such reductive thinking,” said Logan.

“How are we gonna get across and into the tower?” wondered Patton. “If we were already across we could lower the drawbridge, but if we were already across we wouldn't _need_ the drawbridge, and my head hurts thinking about it.”

The Sides were standing directly across from a massive rectangle of wooden planks lashed together with iron bands, standing ever-so-slightly aslant so that they could see the heavy chains that held it in place against the tower wall. It was set within an arch, leaving a curved gap at the top through which the steel lattice of a portcullis could be glimpsed.

Getting into the Tower of Blood was going to be nowhere near as simple as finding a key. Or even battling a greedy five-headed flytrap monster.

...or was it?

At the apex of the arch was perched a particular ugly gargoyle, man-sized, bat-winged and bat-faced, clutching a shield to its chest with clawed hands. In the center of the shield was a gleaming red jewel.

“I'm willing to bet,” said Roman, rubbing his chin, “that jewel is a trigger for the drawbridge. Logan, do you think you can hit it?”

Logan raised his crossbow, sighting along the bolt. “It does look like it's meant to be hit.” He pulled the trigger, and the bolt flew true, striking the gem and shattering it. At once, the slab of wood and iron began to tip, the chains paying out behind it. The Sides skipped back a few steps as the end of the drawbridge slammed into the ground.

“ _Bravissimo_ , Logan!” Roman cried, applauding. “Now to tackle the portcullis. I'm sure between the four of us—”

He didn't get any further than that, because much to their surprise (though it really shouldn't have been), the gargoyle atop the arch suddenly came to life with a shrieking roar. It stood to its full height, stone cracking and crumbling away from its body to reveal a live creature underneath. It roared again, flexing its wings—which, they now saw, were more like the patagia of a flying squirrel than conventional bat wings—and dove off the arch, swooping toward them.

Roman brought up his sword, but the monster skimmed just above his reach. It looped back around, gliding up the drawbridge, and slammed into the portcullis hard enough to bend some of the slats, where it clung for a moment, still roaring, before leaping off and flapping its way to a balcony on the level above. Once there, it...changed. Its features smoothed out into humanlike ones, its patagia folded back and became a heavy black cape, parting at the front to reveal a nobleman's doublet. The man grinned mirthlessly down at them, revealing a set of actual fangs.

“The Vampire Lord...” Virgil muttered.

And for the first time since the Sides had found themselves trapped in the dreamscape, one of its denizens _spoke_ to them. In words.

“Well...well...well...” The Vampire Lord's voice had a rasping hiss to it, suggestive of dry, dusty tombs. “If it isn't the _renowned_ Ammareth the Alchemist!”

The Sides traded awkward glances. Logan cleared his throat. “In point of fact...it is not!”

“It _kind_ _of_ is,” Roman said out the side of his mouth. “That's sort of the deal, remember, Logan?”

“Whatever you call yourself,” the Vampire Lord continued, “I look forward to supping upon your blood after you meet your demise inside my tower! We shall meet again!” He spun about, his cape swishing dramatically, and disappeared into the building.

“Well, that was a cut scene,” Logan observed.

“I don't remember the dialogue being that bad in the actual game,” said Roman.

“Is that how we have to get in?” said Patton, squinting up at the balcony. “How are we gonna get up there?”

“Fortunately,” said Logan, “I _do_ remember this stage of the game fairly well, including the fact that the portcullis will now be damaged enough for us to force our way through.”

“ _UM_ ,” Virgil interjected, “am I the only one to notice a big change in the status quo here?”

Startled, the others traded glances. “Please elaborate,” said Logan.

“Up until now, the monsters we've been facing have been, well, _monsters_. Just on the level of animals. But the Vampire Lord is intelligent. He'll be opposing us on purpose. Shouldn't we...I dunno, make more preparations?”

“I put a _bunch_ of healing items into this thing on the way over,” said Patton, pointing at the Moon Orb atop his staff. Wisp and motes of luminous color swirled within it. “Not sure what else I can do, kiddo.”

“It's been a while since we upgraded our weapons,” Roman pointed out.

“We will have an excellent opportunity to do just that in short order,” said Logan. “There is a room early in the Tower of Blood containing a significant supply of alchemical ingredients. I believe the implication is that the Vampire Lord himself is an alchemist of no mean skill.”

“And yet somehow that doesn't make me feel any better!” Virgil groaned.

“Gloom and doom much, Virgil?” said Roman.

“Literally my job!”

“Let's just get going,” Patton said, fidgeting with his staff. “I'm sure we'll be all right.”

They started across the drawbridge. Before they made it a dozen paces, something huge and horrible reared up out of the blood moat—two such somethings, one on each side. They were black and serpentine and slavering, with round mouths full of concentric rows of teeth. Logan promptly shot one, and it shrieked and writhed and sank back under the surface of the blood, but the other reared back and lunged.

“ _Run!_ ” Roman barked. The four of them took off pell-mell for the tower, just as the monster plowed into the drawbridge, ripping at the planks. They barely made it, leaping to the lip of ground around the tower just as the bridge lost cohesion and splintered away into the moat. The remaining leech-monster screeched and dove out of sight.

Patton yelped as a no-longer-anchored drawbridge chain swung past, missing him by inches. “Is everyone okay?” he asked. They all confirmed that they were, and turned their attention to the portcullis.

The Vampire Lord's collision had warped several of the iron slats and popped out a few rivets. It was easy enough for the Sides to pry them further apart and make a gap they could climb through. They found themselves in a roofed space, not exactly a room—the floor was bare earth with flagstone paths and it was unfurnished—with an exit door straight ahead and another off to the left.

A chorus of screeches greeted them immediately, and three figures dropped down from the ceiling and struck threatening poses: lesser vampires, minions of the Lord. “Puh- _lease_ ,” Roman drawled, rolling his eyes. The vampires hissed and charged, clawed hands upraised, and Roman ran to meet them. His sword flashed, cutting one down and impaling another. The third slipped past...and ran headlong into Virgil's knife.

That wasn't quite enough to finish it off, and it scrambled away with a whistling whine, bleeding heavily. (Its blood was black and sludgy.) It made for the side door, wrenched itself upright, and began scratching at something alongside the doorway.

“What's it doing?” Roman said, squinting. Logan raised his crossbow and loosed a bolt—the other three had just enough time to spot that he had equipped the Fire String again—and the third vampire went up in flames. It died screaming.

Patton turned away from the scene, trembling, a hand pressed to his mouth. Virgil sheathed the knife and ran to his side. “Pat, Pat, you okay? I'm here.”

“I'm not going to have a good time in this tower,” the moral Side stated.

“Can't be worse than the last one,” Roman muttered. Virgil shot him a glare.

“I know, Patton,” he said, rubbing the other's back. “I don't think any of us will. We're past the halfway point now and the gloves are definitely off.”

“But we're going to get through it together, _right_ , Virgil?” Roman said hastily.

“I was getting there,” Virgil said a touch defensively.

“Thanks, guys,” said Patton. “I think I can hold it together. It just...took me by surprise. It was all so _fast..._ and so _messy_.” He turned back around, hugging himself a little. “What's Logan up to over there?”

Logan was inspecting the wall where the third vampire had been groping. “There's some sort of...device here,” he explained. “I assume the vampire was attempting to activate it.”

The device in question consisted of a series of cut gems embedded in the wall beside the door, in six rows of six apiece. A few in the top row, and the first in the second row, glowed faintly. Logan's fingers hovered just above the gems as he pored over the array, just shy of touching them.

“It almost looks like a keypad,” said Roman.

“That is my conjecture as well,” said Logan, “but as yet I have been unable to draw any conclusions regarding which keys to press, as it were. They appear to be entirely unmarked. I am trying to extrapolate from those which the vampire managed to illuminate before I shot it. Perhaps something to do with the mineral composition of the gems themselves?”

“Maybe you need to make a little picture,” said Patton. “Like a smiley face!”

“A delightful notion, Patton, but not one I would rely on in this instance.” Logan's eyes darted over the gems a few more times before his face suddenly lit up with understanding. “Of course! It's so simple!” His fingers danced over the array, tapping certain gems. He stood back when he had finished, and from within the wall there came the grinding noise of sliding bolts.

Roman tugged on the door handle, and it opened with practically no resistance. Logan beamed with self-satisfaction.

“Way to go, Logan!” Patton said. “I'm proud of you! How did you figure it out?”

“It was _elementary_! When I envisioned the gems as sequential integers—one to six on the top row, seven to twelve on the second, and so on—I immediately realized that the ones already lit corresponded to _prime numbers_! All I had to do was continue the sequence!”

“I take it back,” Virgil quipped. “Logan's having a _great_ time in this tower so far. What's behind the door? Is this our alchemy lab?”

It was: a room about the same size as Thomas's kitchen plus dining nook, and laid out much like a kitchen as well, with cupboards and work tables. Logan was almost immediately distracted by the equipment on the tables, a veritable miniature forest of flasks and alembics and valves and pipettes. He also discovered a slim volume of experimental notes left there by the Vampire Lord. Patton dutifully pulled out the log and began going through the cupboards, collecting new components and laughing with wonder as their entries filled themselves in right before his eyes. Although the room contained a profound absence of anything hostile, Virgil took up a guard post beside the door, in case the vampires respawned or their buddies came looking for them or something. That left Roman somewhat at loose ends, so he began poking around unoccupied corners.

“You oughta look at this stuff, Logan,” Patton said. “Some of it's really cool! The log calls this one _ultraviolet_ salt, and it glows like a black light!”

“Oh?” said Logan, genuinely interested. “A photogenerative mineral?”

“Guys, keep it down,” said Virgil. “Don't draw attention.”

As if on cue, there was a horrendous crash of glass and metal from the corner of the room. “My bad,” said Roman.

“Roman! What did I _just_ say?”

A roundish object with a dull metallic sheen, mottled irregularly with dingy black, wobbled out of the pile of castoff equipment that Roman had disturbed and came to a shuddering halt on the floor. Roman bent to pick it up.

“This looks like silver,” he remarked. “Too bad it's so tarnished. Patton, you didn't happen to see any silver polish in that cupboard, did you?”

“I don't think so. You know what though? That looks like the crucible! It's the same shape, at least.” He started flipping through the log again.

“Florence flask,” Logan muttered, his brief examination of the equipment having restored his finicky preference for calling things by their correct names.

“Here we go!” said Patton. “Roman, you found the Silver Crucible! We'll need to polish it before we can use it, but it can make more powerful items than the ones we've had so far!”

“ _Pat,_ ” Virgil said tightly, “I'm happy that you're excited or whatever, but something nasty is gonna come mess with us if you don't rein in the noise a little.”

“Sorry,” Patton said in a near-whisper.

“We can look for silver polish as we go,” said Logan. “For now, the equipment and notes in here should be sufficient for us to synthesize new items out of the components we have discovered.”

They got to it. The “ultraviolet salt” turned out to be the basis for an enhancement to Roman's sword, causing it to emit brilliant, vampire-burning light when swung in a circle. It needed to be reapplied after each use, but they had the ingredients for several rounds. An upgrade to Virgil's knives enabled them to shoot large thorns from their hilts—it wasn't much, but it at least allowed him to strike at range. They hit a roadblock when it came to Logan's crossbow, however—they found the formula for another type of magical string in the Vampire Lord's notes, but the glass crucible wouldn't respond. They were definitely going to need to gussy up the Silver Crucible.

Beyond that, Patton was able to whip up more restorative items, most of which he fed straight into the orb on his staff. “Leave some loose, as it were,” Logan advised. “Supposing you become separated from your staff at a dire moment? Or supposing you yourself need healing?”

“Oh yeah, good point,” said Patton.

“Logan, don't give the game ideas,” Virgil said hoarsely.

They determined that they were as well-supplied as they were going to get for the time being, and left the lab. Sure enough, the three vampire minions had respawned, and they dropped from the ceiling and struck menacing poses as before, but this time Roman activated his sword's new power and took them all out without going anywhere near them.

“Oh, nice!” Roman said as the vampires collapsed into piles of ash. “I could get used to this!”

“Don't get too used to it,” said Logan. “We only have five more samples of that potion. And I wouldn't count on it being as effective against more powerful vampires.” Roman started to pout, so Logan quickly added, “Consider it in the context of more opportunities to use your excellent skill at swordsmanship.” This mollified the prince, and they continued, exiting the room through the second door, the one across from where they had entered.

They found themselves in...luxury. It looked like some kind of reception hall or lounge, with heavy curtains covering the walls, plush sofas here and there, and a floor inlaid with cut slate and marble slabs, arranged in the design of a coat of arms. Everything was dark: mahogany, black velveteen, dark gray stone, and deep red brocade, accented with gold and silver that glinted in the light from a huge brass chandelier.

It also featured a balcony or landing about ten feet up on the far wall. To no one's great surprise, the Vampire Lord stood there, bejeweled hands resting lightly on the balustrade.

“SO!” he boomed at them. “You not only invade my tower, you have the gross audacity to thieve from me!”

Roman stepped forward, eyes flashing with adventuresome spirit. “Parasite upon mankind that you are, you have no rightful claim on anything in this world or the next! To take from you is no theft, but just and proper reclamation!”

“Gettin' a little feisty, Roman?” Virgil said with just a touch of admiration.

“Parasite, am I?” the Vampire Lord retorted, leaning over the railing. “I'll show you parasitism!” With that, he dove off the balcony, cape spreading behind him.

Then he dissolved into a swarm of bats.

Then the lights went out.

Shouting and flailing, the Sides found themselves engulfed by an enemy they could not see and could barely touch, buffeted by leathery wings, their ears tingling from _barely_ ultrasonic shrieks. After a moment, the chandelier lit up again, and they watched the flock retreat through an opening high in the wall above the balcony.

“And that,” said Logan, shaking a little, “is why you should always perform appropriate wildlife research before a caving expedition.”

“Oh yeah, Talyn _hated_ that part, didn't they?” said Patton. “Bats as bad guys.”

“Everyone's all right, right?” said Roman, his voice pitched higher than usual, one hand groping through his hair in case of any hangers-on. “Just a few flying rats in the dark, nothing to be worried about! Happens all the time!”

“Guys...?” Virgil said. He had a hand clapped lightly to his neck, and his eyes were wide. “I think one of them got me.” He moved the hand, showing a faint smear of red.

Logan moved in to inspect the wound. “It looks more like an abrasion than anything else, but that is consistent with the bite of a South American vampire bat. Does it hurt much?”

“Who cares how much it hurts?! I was _bitten_ by a _vampire_!”

Roman shoved Logan aside and seized Virgil by his upper arms. “Fight it, Virge! You're one of us! A human being! Well...part of a human being!”

“Fight what? There's nothing to fight!” Virgil protested. Then he abruptly calmed down somewhat. “There's nothing to fight. Nothing's happening. I don't feel any different.”

“Maybe he was just trying to scare us,” said Patton. He laughed awkwardly. “And succeeding, I gotta tell ya! I don't know who was squealing louder, me or the bats!”

“Almost certainly the bats,” said Logan. “Their cries are among the loudest made by any animal, but fortunately the tonal frequency is beyond the range of human hearing.”

Roman made a chuckling sigh. “Logan, you are such a _fantastic_ nerd.”

“Here, Virge,” said Patton. “Let me fix you up.”

“It's fine, Pat. Just a scratch. Don't waste your magic.”

“I've got lots. And I need to practice casting from the staff. I might as well do it when it's not urgent.”

“Yeah, all right.”

Patton tapped the end of his staff on the floor, and the Moon Orb lit up, clearly showing the floating motes and mists inside it. He peered into the globe, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth, and moved his free hand in a plucking motion. A point of red light emerged from the orb. Patton waved it toward Virgil, who only jumped a little as it sank through his skin. A patch on his neck glowed briefly as the shallow scrape healed without a trace.

“Okay,” Patton said, apparently to himself, nodding. “A little slow, but I can polish it. How do you feel, Virge?”

“Fine,” said Virgil. “Fine for me, I mean.” He felt the former wound site gingerly. “Seems healed up. So what's our next move?”

They studied the balcony for a bit. There was a door at one end—the most obvious exit from the room—but no staircase or ladder leading up that way. Logan squinted for a moment at the chandelier, then stepped back and loosed a crossbow bolt at the supporting chain. It crashed to the floor, where it stood a good six feet tall, shaped not entirely unlike a brass jungle gym. Many of the candles were blown out by the descent, but enough remained to keep the room dimly lit.

“Logan, you are _on fire_ with the puzzles here!” Roman said.

“Heh, get it?” said Patton. “Like the candles? On fire?”

“I believe I have found my niche in this game.”

“Everybody up, I guess,” said Virgil. “Don't burn yourself, or cut yourself on sharp metal, or fall off, or...”

 


	12. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tower of Blood is a pretty even mix of ferocious enemies and tricksy puzzles...the latter of which give even Logan some serious trouble...

 

The door leading off the balcony was unlocked, for all the good that did. There was hardly any solid floor in the room beyond—just a strip about four feet wide, sandwiched between the left-hand wall and an Olympic-sized swimming pool of blood to the right. Another strip of floor and the exit door were visible on the far side.

That was all the Sides were able to take in before the sole occupant of the room—a lesser vampire crouched at the edge of the pool—noticed them and lunged, screeching. Roman didn't even have time to get his sword into position, but Virgil, acting more on reflex than anything else, made a flicking motion with one knife, hilt-first, and a huge barb shot out and impaled the vampire. It howled in shocked agony, thrashing, and fell into the pool.

There was just enough to time to realize the import of this—a large enough thorn could be considered a _wooden stake—_ when the blood suddenly churned with activity. Portions of black rubbery bodies surfaced and sank again as a swarm of leech monsters—smaller versions of the ones from the moat—set upon the luckless vampire. By the time they were...finished...and dove beneath the surface, letting the blood subside into stillness again, only a few...scraps were left, floating.

For a long moment, no one spoke. They stood frozen in half-flinching poses, eyes darting from each other to the debris in the pool and back. Finally, Roman cleared his throat. “Soooooo...I guess swimming is out of the question.”

Virgil turned slowly to give him an incredulous look.

Logan was already scanning the room for alternatives. He nodded upwards, at several sturdy wooden beams criss-crossing the ceiling in a seemingly random layout. “Those are large enough to walk on. If I can cause them to fall in the correct sequence, they should form a stable bridge.”

“Oh sure! Awesome idea!” Virgil squawked. “Let's collapse the ceiling _in a tower_!”

“Now Virge, it can't hurt to hear him out,” said Patton. “Logan's doing great with these puzzles so far.”

“Virgil, your concern is a perfectly rational one,” said Logan, “but in this case, it does not apply. They are not structural beams, see?” The thick planks were in fact suspended from the ceiling via short lengths of rope. More ropes ran between them, creating an irregular web. Logan's eyes darted back and forth and his lips moved almost soundlessly for a few moments. “All right. Stand back, everyone.” He carefully sighted along his crossbow bolt—he had equipped the Fire String again—and shot at a particular knot in the tangle. As the dry hemp burst into flames, which began creeping along the ropes, Logan took aim at another section, but waited to loose the bolt until the first round of flames had reached a certain point. Then he rapidly switched to the Ice String and targeted a third spot, freezing it just before the fire reached it, so that the burning continued in a different direction.

He went on in this fashion for a bit longer, his method becoming apparent once the first ropes were burned through and the planks began to come free of the ceiling. Logan had calculated the placement of fire and ice with such precision that the beams fell exactly in the right way to overlap and interlock, forming a zigzag bridge clear across the pool.

Roman approached, carefully placing a foot on the near end. He shifted his weight slightly, testing. The bridge bobbed only very little, like a sturdy raft. “It seems safe enough,” he said. “Masterfully done, Logan!”

They crossed, single-file. The leech monsters made themselves known the entire way, breaching the surface like twisted parodies of dolphins. Roman kept his sword out, ready to bisect any that jumped too close. But they made it across without further incident. Roman took a moment to re-apply the ultraviolet enhancement to his blade, and they stepped through the exit door.

In the next room, they were swarmed by rats.

These were not the skittish skeletal rats from the Tower of Bones, or even the monstrous but wimpy ones found in the courtyard. They were about the size of beagles, hairless, with glowing red eyes. Their ears and incisors alike were pointed, making them resemble a pack of rodent Count Orloks. There were about twenty of them, lunging out from behind the room's furnishings.

With a swipe of his sword, Roman cut their number by half. The rest took shelter in the shadows of the furniture (or each other), and resumed attacking as soon as the glare died down. The minutes that followed were a chaotic mess of squeaking and biting and scratching, countered by slashing and stabbing and flinging. Even Patton, swinging his staff head-down like a golf club, managed to get a few hits in. Once they had cleared the room, Patton tended to everyone's minor wounds, coming to grips with his technique for drawing out healing spells from the Moon Orb.

The exit door was locked, but not well; Roman kicked it open. A short corridor lay beyond, and the other end stood open. They proceeded with caution to the next room.

This room was round—well, cylindrical, technically speaking—and surprisingly well-lit, with flaming braziers set at regular intervals around it, near the tall ceiling. An exit door stood immediately opposite the one they entered by, and a narrow groove ran straight across the floor from one to the other, neatly bisecting the circle. Circular icons decorated the stone walls as well, but the Sides’ attention was immediately drawn to the contraption in the center of the room.

“Contraption” was the only word for it: an assemblage of metal rods and gears, with no immediately obvious purpose. Two features stood out: a round brass plate mounted on the front with the numerals 0 through 9 etched around the edge like a clock face, and a chain rising from somewhere in the heart of the thing straight up to a small, irregularly shaped aperture in the ceiling.

As soon as they were all fully inside the room, a metal door slammed down inside the entryway, while an ominous click came from the other door. Virgil did his best impression of a nervous cat, and the other three let out undignified noises of startlement.

“Clearly this is another puzzle room,” said Logan, recovering his composure as one recovers their breath after swallowing water the wrong way. “I doubt it’s anything I can’t decipher.”

He went up to inspect the central device more closely. The disc with the numbers on it was a little more complex than it had seemed at first: two prongs framed the 0 at the top, and what was very obviously a handle stuck out from behind. Logan grasped it and gave it an experimental tug, and the apparatus swiveled _beautifully_ , the prongs clicking smoothly from one number to the next.

Two other things began happening at the same time. The chain started to rise slowly, retracting into the ceiling with a ratcheting sound.

And a series of round openings in the walls began spewing water into the room at a shocking rate.

(At least it _was_ water.)

Logan jerked his hand away from the handle. Nothing changed immediately; the chain continued to crank upward and the liquid continued to pour. After a few seconds...the former reversed course, clanking back down to its starting position. The latter, however, continued unabated.

“Oooohhhhhhhh, this is all kinds of bad,” said Virgil as their toes began to be drenched. “Logan, please tell me you've solved the puzzle.”

“I...um...well, obviously the key is to input the correct sequence of numbers,” he said, “but I have no idea—yet—what that might be.”

“Well, snap to it, Professor Polysyllable!” said Roman.

Logan's eyes darted around the rapidly flooding room, searching for clues. Circles...circles...the whole chamber was a bisected circle, and more such figures were carved liberally into the walls. Even the gushing pipes, he realized, had narrow bars running across their mouths, giving them that same bisected appearance.

What bisects a circle? Its diameter.

Acting on a hunch, Logan returned to the dial and began to move the prongs: 3...1...4...1...5. The chain once again began to rise—bingo!—and this time he spotted something dangling from the end of it. He let the device linger on 5 for a time, counting one...two...three...and the chain dropped again. But he'd been able to see that the thing on the end of the chain was an irregularly shaped block of metal. He was willing to bet it would fit perfectly into the gap in the ceiling to which it would be drawn if the chain retracted far enough.

Just to be certain, he tried another variable. 3...1...4...3. The chain dropped immediately. The water was up to their knees by now.

“I've solved it,” he said. “I have to enter the code sequence continuously, no more than three seconds between digits, until the chain retracts completely. There's a key of sorts on the end of it, which will be pulled into a lock in the ceiling.”

“How long will that take?” asked Patton.

“Given the observed rate at which the chain rises and the height of the ceiling...five to six minutes.”

“The water will be up over your head long before then!” said Virgil. “Tell us the sequence. We can take turns entering it.”

“No you can't,” said Logan, closing his eyes for a moment. “It's not a repeating sequence. It's the digits of pi.”

“Logan...” said Roman. “You _can't_ hold your breath that long.”

“Then I'd better not waste any more time, or I will certainly fail.”

He shucked off his outer robe so that it wouldn't get in the way and began, counting just shy of three seconds between digits in order to get the most out of what he had memorized. He was perfect on pi out to at least 100 or 120 digits—he tested himself every week—and that gave him...five to six minutes before things became uncertain.

At best, this was going to be close.

The water rose quickly, the chain less so. Before long, the other three found themselves treading water, and Logan had to hold onto the outer framework of the mechanism to maintain his leverage while operating the dial. _...5...0...2...8...8...4...1...9...7...1..._ Just before the water surged up over his head, he drew the largest breath he could manage and continued: _...6...9...3...9...9...3...7...5...1...0..._

The longest he had ever been able to hold his breath, with preparation, was 154.23 seconds. (He had timed it with a stopwatch once, out of curiosity.)

Logan abolished all distractions from his mind, dedicating all his focus to the task at hand. It was an absolute necessity; the device tolerated no error. He moved the dial resolutely from number to number, as precise as an atomic clock.

After thirty more digits, his lungs began to ache just a bit. He released some air, easing the pressure.

_The others are fine. The water hasn't reached the ceiling yet. Don't think about it. Keep going._

He released a little more air. _Focus_ . _...8...6...2...8...0...3...4...8...2...5..._

Suddenly everything was plunged into darkness, and there came startled shouts from the others, filtering down through the liquid. The water had risen high enough to drown the braziers. _How close were they to the ceiling? 18 inches? How much space do the others have left?_ _**Focus,** _ _Logan, they effectively have_ _**none** _ _if you don't complete this task!_ Fortunately, he didn't need light for this; he could do it by feel. The numbers were deeply etched, easy for his fingertips to discern.

Unfortunately, he was really starting to feel the lack of oxygen, his head was pounding, and to worsen matters, he was almost past the point where he was confident in his memorization. Hadn't the chain gotten to wherever it needed to go yet?

He released the last of his air. He might have twenty more digits left (if he could remember them) before he would reflexively gasp, inhaling water. That would be...bad. His heart was already laboring to keep his tissues oxygenated, and all he could hear was the rushing of his own blood flow. His toes were going numb.

His world contracted around the dial and handle. _...0...9...3...8...4..._ He was definitely in uncertain territory here, but hesitating was not to be thought of. _...4...6...0...9...5...5...0..._ If not for the pitch-darkness, his vision would be starting to tunnel.

Something yanked at him, some sort of rough current, and Logan lost his grip. On everything.

 

* * *

 

There was a deep _clonk_ from somewhere above them and suddenly the water was dropping much, _much_ faster than it had risen. Soon they had room to breathe again and they did, greedily gasping air.

“He did it!” Patton cheered. “Way to go, Logan!”

The braziers sputtered back to life now that they were no longer submerged, but Logan was nowhere to be seen. “Where is he?!” Virgil demanded. “Is he trapped down there?!” He made as if to dive, but Roman grabbed him.

“If he is, we'll be able to reach him soon enough. Don't risk your own safety.”

Another half-minute or so brought the Sides back into contact with the floor. Both doors stood open, as well as numerous drainage grates in the floor.

Logan lay motionless on the floor near the puzzle apparatus, skin ashy gray. His glasses were missing.

“Oh, no!” Patton cried, hands flying to his mouth and tears immediately spilling over. He scrambled across the floor to Logan's side, the other two hot on his heels. “Logan, _breathe_!” Patton begged, shaking the other Side. “Please wake up!”

“Well, he hasn't evaporated,” said Roman. “That's a good sign.” He bent over Logan, fingers sliding into the groove of his throat. “There's a pulse,” he reported after a moment, the relief evident in his voice. “But he must have swallowed water. I think...” He shifted position, leaning over his face, listening.

“Make him cough!” Virgil demanded. “Turn him—!”

Roman nodded, rolled Logan onto his side, and delivered a hard slap to his back. A little water dribbled from his mouth with a faint gurgling sound, but no more. “Come on, Logan, you can do better than that,” Roman muttered. “Patton! Use your healing magic on three!”

“Right!” said Patton.

“One—two— _three_!” Roman thumped Logan's back again. At the same instant, Patton flicked a Restorative at him.

Logan's entire body jerked and he suddenly began coughing—deep, spasmodic coughs that made his chest heave. Water spurted from his mouth.

“Atta _boy_ , Logan!” Patton croaked, his tears now those of relief.

Logan drew breath, a real breath, and went into a series of less desperate but still rattling coughs. His hand shuddered, opening and closing. He seemed to be trying to speak, but could only sputter.

“You're all right! Logan, you're all right!” said Virgil, as if trying to convince himself.

“Ssh, ssh, don't try to talk just yet. Whatever it is can wait,” said Roman. “Catch your breath.”

“...five...eight...” Logan rasped, “...two...two...three...one...” He trailed off into more coughs.

The other three Sides traded pained looks.

“It's okay, Logan,” said Patton, cupping his still-pale face in his hands. “You did it. You can stop. We're safe. _You're_ safe. We don't need any more numbers.”

Logan's hand stopped twitching and he raised it plaintively. Roman took it and squeezed firmly. Logan closed his eyes, his breathing finally evening out and his proper color returning.

“Brave knight,” Roman said softly. “You've earned a rest.”

“Virge, find his glasses, would you?” said Patton. “And his robe-cloak thingie?”

Virgil nodded, grateful for the task to distract him from worrying, however little it did so. He found the requested items quickly enough—it wasn't an especially large room—and took a moment to set Logan's glasses right on his face for him before standing back to wring out the robe.

“Thank you, Virgil,” Logan said a little hoarsely. “We should continue.”

“We can wait until you're ready,” said Patton.

“I will make myself ready,” said Logan. He pushed himself up into a sitting position...and paused, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I'll help you up,” said Roman. “You two, scout on ahead a bit. Just be careful.”

“Wow, good thing you said _that_ ,” said Virgil with a good-natured smirk. “Otherwise I might have done something reckless.”

As he and Patton investigated beyond the exit door, Roman pulled Logan to his feet. “Up you go, Pointdexter.”

Logan winced again with the effort of standing. His pained expression subsided into a faintly puzzled one. “Roman...a few moments ago, you called me brave.”

“Of course! Logan, you risked your own life—your actual _life—_ in order to save all of us from certain death.”

“That's just it, though. That was not courage, it was calculation. It's not as though I could have escaped by not doing it. I was the only one who could have entered the sequence.”

“Nevertheless,” Roman said gently, “you volunteered to be alone, under the water, in the dark, while the rest of us were together, not even knowing whether you could succeed. That does take courage, even if it's in the best interest of survival. And I couldn't be more grateful. Or prouder.”

“I have never thought of myself as brave,” said Logan. “That has never been my role in this...squishy mess we call Thomas's personality.”

“We learn new things every day. Isn't that what you try to encourage?”

For the first time since entering the round room, Logan smiled. “I suppose it is.”

At that moment, Patton and Virgil returned. “You guys ready yet?” said Patton. “Come see what we found! There's _treasure_!”

“And nothing tried to eat us for once,” Virgil added.

 


	13. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys enjoy an interlude in the lap of luxury...but it can't last long. The Vampire Lord is waiting!

It _would_ have been the Vampire Lord's bedroom, except that the Vampire Lord obviously didn't sleep in a bed. There was a swanky velour canopy over the coffin, however. With fringed side curtains.

The room was bigger than Thomas's entire apartment if both stories were put side by side, with a ceiling nearly two stories high as well. The floor was entirely covered with an ankle-deep crimson carpet, and the furnishings continued the mahogany-and-gilt theme already established elsewhere in the tower. A huge oval mirror hung on one wall, stretching nearly the entire height of the room in its baroque frame. There wasn't a single sightline that wasn't packed with luxury.

Roman let out a low whistle as he took it all in. “Now, _this_ ...this is _nice_ ,” he remarked. “I'm going to give the next villain I fight digs like this.”

“Technically, this _is_ the abode of the villain you will fight next,” said Logan. “Unless you're planning to sit out the boss battle?”

Roman made an extravagant scoffing noise. “You cut me to the quick, Logan! I would _never_ ...never mind. Patton, you mentioned treasure?”

“Oh yeah! Over here!”

Patton opened a cabinet door which proved to be the entrance to a walk-in closet. It wasn't a huge space, all things considered, but the walls were lined with shelves and the shelves were _piled_ with shiny things—rings and brooches and _crowns_ , actual crowns stuffed with precious stones. There was a rack of ornamental weapons and armor (definitely ornamental, because you don't wear a mother-of-pearl breastplate into actual battle), and another of necklaces and earrings, and every inch of space not given over to such works of art was scattered with loose gemstones in every color of the rainbow.

As he stepped in, Roman's jaw dropped with sheer avaricious awe. “I call dibs on that emerald tiara!”

“We're not here to treasure-hunt...” Logan began, but he broke off, made a beeline for a corner shelf, and grabbed an unassuming ceramic pot with an old rag wadded up in the mouth.

“I already picked up a few jewels,” said Patton. “The log book said they were components.”

“What do you think?” said Roman, already dripping with gold chains and armbands. “Is this look really me?”

“It's _really_ not,” said Virgil. “What did you find there, Logan?”

Logan had removed the rag and was gingerly sniffing at the contents of the jar. “It is!” he declared, eyes lighting up. “I have located a supply of aluminum silicate suspended in propylene glycol!” At the others' blank looks, he amended: “A common formula for silver polish!”

“What are you, the maid?” Roman teased. He had added several rings, a diadem, and an Egyptian pectoral to his ensemble.

“For the Silver Crucible, remember?” said Logan. “So we can activate it and synthesize more powerful alchemical items?”

“If you think it's necessary at this point,” said Roman, having sprouted two more pieces of jewel-encrusted headgear and a set of bronze greaves with golden filigree. “As far as I'm concerned, we just found the prize at the end of the quest!”

“Dude!” said Virgil. “The prize at the end of the quest is getting the heck out of this nightmare! And it's not like you can keep any that stuff!”

“Uuuuugggghhhhh, _fine_ ,” Roman complained. “We'll polish up your silver thingie and make some more doodads and thrash the Vampire Lord and whatever else we need to do.”

“If it makes you feel any better, kiddo, _I_ think you look spiffy!”

“Really? You don't think the greaves are overdoing it?”

“Well, that all depends. What are those?”

They exited the closet, Roman jingling like a glockenspiel. He immediately moved to the big mirror in order to check himself out. Logan found a place to sit where the light was reasonably good and began polishing up the crucible. The other two stood around awkwardly...until a few moments later, when Virgil started, staring up near the ceiling.

“What is it?” said Patton, following his gaze. There was a little alcove in the wall up there, like the opening of an air vent, and a single bat was visible inside, not hanging from the overhead surface but crouched on all fours as if it had been crawling.

“That one,” said Virgil, pointing a wagging finger, “that's the one that bit me.” His other hand moved, almost absently, to lightly rub his neck where the bite had been.

Logan paused mid-scrub. “How do you know?”

Virgil shuddered. “Recognizing threats is kind of my thing. Especially proven ones.”

“What do you think it’s doing up there?” wondered Patton.

“It may be—” Logan began, but Virgil cut him off with a single word:

“ _Spying._ ” At the same moment, he activated his knife's thorn-throwing power. It missed, but the bat retreated back into the space. Virgil huffed out a breath and began to pace around the room, twitching with nervous energy.

“Virge? Everything okay?”

“I'm fine, Pat. Is that thing pretty enough yet, Logan?”

“Almost. I have just a few more square centimeters to polish...oh!”

The Silver Crucible, free of tarnish, levitated out of Logan's hands, shining like a miniature star. The display only lasted for a moment, but it clearly signaled that the vessel was ready for use.

“Yay!” Patton exclaimed, plopping down on the carpet across from Logan and unloading the satchel in a by-now familiar routine. They discovered right away that one of the benefits of the Silver Crucible was its “exceptional alchemical purity,” as the log book put it—it could be used an indefinite number of times, with no rest period or save point required. They made as many consumable items as they could from their stock of ingredients, and then tackled the issue of the new crossbow string. Naturally, Logan had memorized the formula from the notes in the store room.

Unfortunately, they were missing one key component...because they had already used it in a Full Restorative.

Fortunately, another advantage of the Silver Crucible was that it could break down finished items into their original components.

“If only such a device could be made in reality,” Logan mused wistfully. “It would _revolutionize_ the fields of chemistry and chemical engineering.” He cleared his throat. “Now, as I recall, I need copper wire, silver wire, ultraviolet salt, flytrap seeds, black slime, and leech acid.”

“Put 'em together and what have you got?” Patton sang under his breath as he dropped the ingredients into the Silver Crucible.

“What was that?” Roman said, hurrying over. “I heard Disney lyrics!”

“What happened to your bling, Princey?” asked Virgil.

“Eh, I got it out of my system,” Roman said, gesturing at the pile of precious gems and metals he had left by the mirror. “But I'm going to recreate some of the nicer pieces as soon as I get back to my room. I've been planning to add this hall to my castle where I'll keep mannequins that I can use to display the awesome costumes I come up with, and—”

“Done!” Patton announced as the newly created crossbow string floated up out of the crucible.

They could tell that it was a more advanced item than the previous two strings from its appearance alone; it bore a metallic sheen, more like a wire than a string, and blue-white sparks coruscated constantly along its length. Logan reached for it, jerked his hand back as a spark leapt to his fingertips, then defiantly took hold of the strand. The electricity made his hand vibrate.

“This should not be possible,” he said. “It’s generating a current. It’s a solid, homogenous object. How is it generating a current?”

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here, uncharacteristic of me as that is,” said Virgil, “and guess...magic? Anyway, doesn't that hurt?”

“Not especially, no. The amperage appears to be fairly low.”

“It's called the Lightning String!” Patton declared, pointing to the new entry in the log book. “Sounds super-powerful!”

“I believe it,” said Logan, carefully stringing his crossbow with it. “More to the point, it must have specific uses in _this_ tower, or it would not be becoming available just now.”

“Cool,” said Virgil. “Where to next?”

They looked around. The only doors were the ones on the treasure closet, and the one they had come in by. “Huh,” said Roman. “Does anyone remember passing a side path on our way in?”

“Well, there's always that little nook where the bat was,” said Patton. He gasped. “Maybe we need to make a shrinking potion and climb up there!”

“I'll inspect the closet,” said Logan. “Perhaps one of the treasures functions as a switch to open a hidden door.”

Virgil began poking around the sides of the coffin. But Roman returned to the mirror, frowning at it.

“Whatsa matter, Roman?” said Patton. “Did you notice a zit or something?”

“On _this_ regal countenance? Perish the thought! It suddenly occurred to me to wonder: What _does_ a vampire need with a huge _mirror_ anyway?” He put his fingertips to the glass, almost as if he expected them to pass right through. Then he spun around, squinting at the opposite wall. “Aha! Logan, Virgil! You're off the hook! I believe I have the solution!”

That particular section of wall was blank. But its reflection in the mirror plainly showed a door.

Acting on a hunch, Roman unsheathed his sword and activated the light burst. The brilliance bounced off the mirror, as light does, and struck the wall, and with a sizzling noise, the door appeared as the vampiric illusion covering it was burned away. Roman stood back with a lopsided smile of satisfaction.

“I...I never would have thought of that,” Logan said in a slightly stunned tone.

“Well, Teach, fantasy folklore is not your area of expertise. But it is mine!”

The floor in front of the door began to emit silver light as a new save point emerged. They used it gratefully, but with a certain wariness—its presence could only mean they were nearing their showdown with the Vampire Lord.

“Patton, have you synthesized as many restorative items as possible from your stock of components?” Logan asked.

“I think so. Let me double-check.”

“I am so not ready for this,” Virgil mumbled, rubbing his neck again.

“We'll be all right,” said Roman. “The Vampire Lord is just another fantasy villain. I've dealt with his ilk dozens of times before. And I didn't have you three fighting at my side then.”

They made their last scraps of preparations, and then opened the door to see what lay beyond.

What lay immediately beyond was a straight, narrow set of stairs leading upward. It went on for about a standard flight's worth, or a little more, and the stairwell was clean, quiet, and mercifully free of enemies or other hazards. The door at the top was ajar, and they glimpsed sky through the gap.

When they passed through it, they found themselves at one end of a balcony that wrapped around a portion of the tower. A pair of gargoyles perched on the parapet came to life and attacked them, but they dispatched them easily enough, smashing one against the side of the tower and breaking off a wing of the other, which spiraled down into the blood moat.

The wind began to pick up, and thunder rumbled in the distance.

At the other end of the balcony was a sort of open-topped cage or pen, large enough to hold all four of them comfortably and nestled into a groove in the wall. A complicated piece of machinery stood next to it, with faintly sparking wires protruding from within.

“I think I know what to do here,” said Logan. “Stand back.” He aimed his newly upgraded crossbow at the device and fired; the bolt that sped toward its target was a _bolt_ of pure electricity. The machinery shuddered and crackled into activity, and the cage slowly began to rise.

“It's an elevator!” Roman realized. “Quick, get in!”

It was a bit of a scramble, and Patton wound up hanging off the side of the cage for a moment until the others helped him in. They rode to the top of the tower in near-silence, as the approaching storm grew more intense.

The scene at the top was like something out of a Hammer horror film—six massive Tesla coils ringed the space, each one topped with a brass sphere big enough for a person to curl up inside, while the remaining area was littered with tables covered in Victorian-esque science equipment, as well as larger contraptions and of course the requisite operating-table-on-a-lift, complete with shackles and buckled straps to hold down a “project's” body and limbs.

“Where are you...?” Virgil muttered, gripping his knives.

Lightning split the sky overhead, tantalizingly close to the Tesla coils, and from every direction, hundreds of tiny red eyes gleamed in the flash. The bats leapt from their perches, shrieking, and swarmed together. In the next moment, the Vampire Lord himself hovered overhead, sneering down at them.

“I suppose you think you've accomplished something heroic, making your way through all my traps and puzzles and slaughtering my creatures. But now I have you right where I want you.”

Roman rolled his eyes dramatically. “Puh- _lease_ , could you _be_ any more cliché? What's next...'Now you will see the true extent of my power?' Maybe a little of the old 'We're not so different, you and I?'”

“Oh, we're _very_ different,” said the Vampire Lord, lowering himself to the stones. “For one thing, I would never simply invade someone's home...uninvited. For another, if I did have a foe who needed to be confronted, I would honorably face them alone instead of engineering four-on-one odds.”

As he spoke, Roman glanced sidelong at the others, flapping the fingers of one hand in a blah-blah-blah gesture.

“Enough of your insolence!” the Vampire Lord bellowed. “It's time I evened these odds!” His eyes blazed with fiery light, and Roman braced himself for a vengeful attack...but it never came.

Instead, _Virgil_ suddenly dropped his knives and clutched his head, moaning. He staggered a few paces away from the group.

“Virge...?” said Patton. “You okay, kiddo?”

Roman sucked in a breath. “He's not...the bite...”

“Quite correct,” said the Vampire Lord, his eyes still aflame. He lifted one hand, making series of almost negligent gestures, and Virgil continued to lurch about, each stumbling step taking him away from the other Sides and closer to the villain. “I have taken some of his blood. It is mine to control...and to control the part is to control the whole.” He made a twirling motion with one finger, and Virgil spun about to face the others. The Vampire Lord raised his hand, and Virgil's head lifted. His own hands dropped away to reveal his eyes.

The other Sides gasped. Virgil's eyes were tarry black, all the way through, except for one pinpoint of blood-red in the center of each pupil.

“And this one is so _easy_ to control!” the Vampire Lord continued. “Already a child of the night, ruled foremost by fear. There's a berserker right under the surface here; isn't that fascinating?”

“Release. Him. At. _Once_ ,” Roman growled, shifting into the starting position for a duel to the death. Logan and Patton had never seen the prince looking so grim.

“I think not,” the Vampire Lord said airily. “As established, I really didn't think much of your little four-against-one stunt. So instead we can try three...against two!”

He flung his hand forward, and with a feral cry, Virgil lunged for the other three.


	14. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BOSS BATTLE!

Virgil was _fast_. He closed the distance between the Vampire Lord and the others in a second or less, giving them almost no time to react.

Almost.

“I'll-handle-Virge-you-two—yeah!” Patton blurted, stepping forward with his staff held horizontally. He held Virgil at bay for just a moment, enough for Roman and Logan to begin engaging with the Vampire Lord as he sprang into the air, transforming into the gargoyle-like shape he had used in their first encounter. Then Patton ducked and twisted and fled into the maze of science equipment, hoping that Virgil would follow him.

He did.

Lightning crashed overhead as the battle began properly.

“Virgil? Kiddo? I'm not angry with you. I-I know you don't mean this,” Patton said as he scrambled to keep space between himself and his attacker. Virgil had reclaimed his knives during the chase and kept them in constant motion, fluid but too frantic to be graceful. His inky eyes were wide and his teeth were bared. “The Vampire Lord is messing with your noggin real bad, but if—ah!—if you can settle down for _just a second_ , I think I can help you!”

Virgil gave no indication that he had even heard Patton, much less understood him. The knife-swipes were getting way too close for Patton's peace of mind, so he gave up trying to get through to the other Side for the moment and fled into the space between two racks of devices, giving one of them a shove so that it tipped against the other, closing off the entrance. Huddled in his narrow retreat, Patton flinched at Virgil's snarl of frustration. He dared to glance up, to see how his friend was reacting to this setback.

Patton's heart broke a little.

Virgil was scrabbling at the blockage in his path with an expression of absolute intensity—but it was not, as Patton had assumed, one of savage predatory rage. It was hard to read anything in Virgil's shadow-flooded eyes, but now that Patton had a moment to really look, he could see the tells in the set of his brows and the lines of his mouth...and in the tears starting to slip down his cheeks.

Virgil was  _terrified_ .

Of course...the Vampire Lord had bragged about controlling him through his fears, hadn't he? Who knew  _what_ Virgil thought was happening, what he was seeing, what or who he thought he was fighting? “I'm gonna make it right for you, kiddo. Somehow,” Patton whispered, pressing himself further into his refuge.

There came shouts from the other side of the arena, where Roman and Logan were dealing with the Vampire Lord directly, and then Virgil dove out of the way as a blur of reds, grays, and blacks flashed across the space and crashed into a table covered with glassware and instruments, shattering most of it, including the table. The Vampire Lord dissolved into his bat swarm the instant before impact, leaving his victim to take the brunt of it all.

As the bats cleared from the spot, Patton peered out of his hiding place. Roman lay sprawled in a heap of glass, metal, and splintered wood, barely moving, groaning heavily.

“Roman, are you okay?” he called, heedless of the danger of attracting attention. “Can you hear me over there?” There was no response. The prince had passed out. Patton whimpered with worry and prepared to come to his aid with healing magic...but Virgil was just getting to his feet, and his eyes were still stained black. To Patton's simultaneous surprise and relief, he _didn't_ target the helpless Roman, but merely resumed trying to find an alternate route into Patton's sanctuary.

The lightning flashes overhead were more frequent now, and the Vampire Lord could be heard cackling over...wherever in the arena he was. Patton crouched and hugged his staff and screwed his eyes shut, trying to figure out what to do. Roman was hurt, maybe badly, and Logan was facing the Vampire Lord all by himself, and Virgil was mind-controlled and suffering, and Patton wished he were better at  _thinking_ so that he could solve this puzzle. Logan was an amazing thinker of course, and Roman was good at a different kind of thinking, and Virgil—when he was in command of his own mind—was good at  _over_ thinking. But Patton was only good at  _feeling_ , and right now that didn't  _feel_ like enough.

_But_ , he realized with a sudden surge of resolve,  _it's a start._

Roman groaned again—waking up, maybe? Not entirely insensible, at least. Virgil still took no notice of him, and Patton was briefly distracted wondering  _why_ . According to Logan's nature shows, predators always went for the most vulnerable prey, so why hadn't the vicious force possessing Virgil zeroed in on Roman?

And then Patton remembered the desperate,  _hunted_ expression on Virgil's face, and everything fell into place. Virgil wasn't  _possessed_ at all; the Vampire Lord wasn't  _controlling_ him...he was  _pushing_ him. He had blown the doors to Virgil's fight-or-flight response wide open, making it more like fight  _and_ flight, both at the same time, entangled with one another.

Virgil was having the worst sort of panic attack  _and he was trying to get to his dad_ .

Gathering his courage, Patton nudged the crooked shelf back into place and carefully stepped back out into the open. He had time to look around once—Roman was definitely stirring, okay, good sign, no idea where Logan was but the Vampire Lord was circling in his gargoyle form, so that fight was still going on—and then Virgil was in his face, swinging with both knives again. The same mental whammy that made him absolutely frantic to find Patton had also rendered him incapable of recognizing him.

“Listen to me, Virgil,” Patton said as he ducked and dodged and backed away, even knowing his words would probably have no effect, “I know you're hurting right now, but—aah!—this is not acceptable behavior!” He glanced from side to side, located the thing he was looking for, and veered toward it. After another moment, he was in position. He waited for the next attempted strike, sidestepped it on pure gut instinct while bringing his staff down to give Virgil a smart tap on the hand with the Moon Orb. The blade dropped, and Patton, bringing his toddler-management skills to bear once again, seized Virgil's wrist and forced it...directly into one of the manacles on the Nineteenth-Century operating table.

“Young man!” he said, wrestling the other Side until he let go of the other knife, and then getting his other arm into position, “What you need...is...a _time-out_!” He buckled a leather strap across Virgil's chest and another across his hips, leaving him not completely immobilized—he could move his head and legs—but certainly unable to break free no matter how he thrashed.

And he  _did_ thrash, at least at first, whining and kicking. Patton stood back, making sure the restraints would hold. “Sorry about this, kiddo,” he mumbled. “I don't like it either.”

Virgil jerked his head in Patton's direction. One eye flicked closed, and when it opened again, for just a brief instant, it was showing Virgil's normal brown iris. Then it flooded black again. Virgil sagged in his bonds, panting.

Patton staggered back a step or two, covering his mouth with his free hand to stifle a little sob. That had been a  _wink_ , and for such an instantaneous gesture, it had communicated a lot. Virgil had been fighting for control of himself all along, and had managed to seize just enough of it to  _let_ Patton lead him to the trap. Patton was sure of it. In any case, the straps and manacles would hold him for at least a few minutes, it looked like. Long enough to get to Roman and give him the help he needed.

The prince had regained consciousness and was pushing himself up into a sitting position as Patton approached. He probably shouldn't have been moving—he was swaying like a tree in a gale, and wincing in pain every time his weight shifted. A streak of blood had trailed down the side of his face, originating somewhere above his hairline. “Patton,” he said, forcing a weak smile. “Please tell me we started winning while I was blacked out.”

“I couldn't say,” Patton said, looking for a good angle from which to help Roman out of the jagged rubble. “I've been preoccupied with Virgil.”

“Were you— _ssssss!_ —were you able to get through to him?”

“Maybe? Either way, he's out of the fight. I feel like he's gonna be okay...and so are you, here.” He offered Roman a hand, and heaved him out of the heap and caught him, and held his suddenly trembling form. “You're okay!” Patton said hastily while Roman whimpered. “I'm gonna fix you right up.” He dosed Roman with two Restoratives, one right after the other, and shared his relief as all his little hurts closed up and the pain stopped.

“Better?” Patton asked.

“ _Immeasurably._ I can't thank you enough, Now then...where was I...? Roman wheeled about, scanning the arena, until he located the Vampire Lord still flapping overhead. His expression darkened. “I have a score to settle with Baron von Batty up there.”

“I think we all do,” said Patton, “but shouldn't we find Logan first?”

Roman nodded. “Let's stay together. Logan and I split up in order to flank him earlier, and that's when he hit me.”

They picked their way around the arena, calling cautiously for Logan and trying to keep obstacles between themselves and the Vampire Lord. That didn't stop him from spotting them...but rather than swooping down at them, he once again broke apart into bats, which began to fly in a circle.

“What's he doing?” Patton wondered aloud as the clouds overhead began to form a cyclone, mirroring the bats' movement.

“Get down!” a voice shouted. Someone or something tugged urgently on the hem of Roman's cloak, and he looked down to see a hand with a baggy blue sleeve sticking out from beneath a table. The tugging became more frantic, and Roman reflexively grabbed Patton's hand so that they both wound up under the impromptu cover.

In the next instant, a fork of lightning lanced down out of the spinning clouds and grounded itself in some pointy piece of equipment no more than ten feet away from them.

“In the real world, of course,” said Logan, for their rescuer was none other, “we would still be rather harshly affected by a lightning strike that close.”

“Note taken,” Roman said, a little shakily.

“I found out the hard way what it means when he becomes the swarm and circles like that,” Logan said, and they noticed for the first time that he was holding his left arm awkwardly across his chest.

“You're hurt!” Patton blurted.

“Electrical burns,” Logan confirmed. “Affecting both the skin and the interior muscle. It is painful, but I have not noticed any loss of function.”

“Well, you don't have to settle for that! Healing magic, remember?”

“I had assumed conservation of resources would be a priority—”

But Patton was already fumbling to bring his staff into position in the restricted space. “Resources are there to be used,” he said piously.

“So now that there's three of us,” said Roman, “how do we beat this guy?”

“I...have yet to devise an effective strategy,” Logan confessed. “He seems able to simply deflect most of my bolts...”

“Ugh, I _hate_ it when the boss can just no-sell my best moves!” Roman griped under his breath.

“...and when I use the Lightning String, the Tesla coils attract it away from him and discharge in an apparently random direction. Thus far, I haven't managed to hit him.”

Patton finally managed to extract another Restorative. “Have you tried doing it backwards?” he said.

Logan opened his mouth to issue a scoffing response, but thought better of it. “Backwards in what sense?”

“Well...if the lightning hits the coil thingies when you aim it at the Vampire Lord, maybe it works the other way around?”

“It's a nice thought, Patton, but...” Logan trailed off, his brow furrowing in that way that meant he was thinking good and hard. After a long moment that seemed longer, he said, “It would be foolish to jump to conclusions with no evidence, but it _would_ be in theme for this tower to have an indirect method for defeating the boss.”

“Sounds like you have a strategy,” said Roman.

“Potentially, yes. It may be time-consuming, and it will definitely be risky...especially for you two.”

“Well, we're certainly not making any progress from under here,” Roman pointed out.

“Precisely. Here is what I propose...”

Logan quickly explained his plan. Roman and Patton would leave the safety of the table and goad the Vampire Lord into using his cyclone attack, then move toward the Tesla coils before the lightning struck. Hopefully, the coils would attract the bolts, which—being much more intense than the ones from Logan's crossbow—would overload and destroy them. Without the coils, the Vampire Lord would then be vulnerable to Logan's surprise counter-attack.

“That seems like a lot of 'if,'” Patton observed, frowning slightly.

“It is. Fortunately, we will know fairly quickly whether the plan will in fact work as I have outlined it. If the first lightning bolt fails to strike a Tesla coil, or strikes but fails to destroy it, regroup here so we can devise another plan.”

“So we're doing this?” Patton said with a tremor in his voice. His face hardened with resolve. “Okay! Let's do this!”

“And stay together! Protect each other!” Logan called as they clambered out from under the table.

The Vampire Lord was no longer flying, in one piece or many, and for a brief, panicked instant, Patton expected to see him bent over the bound Virgil, doing something his imagination refused to supply. But they spotted the villain perched atop the wall surrounding the space, once again in humanoid form and in the most  _infuriatingly_ relaxed pose.

“Ah, so there you are. I was beginning to think you'd given up.”

Roman adjusted his grip on his sword. “Come down here and say that.”

“You know? I don't think I will.” He leapt from the wall, and in the time it takes to blink twice, transformed first into the gargoyle and then into the swarm. The bats began to circle.

“Here we go...” Roman muttered.

The lightning seemed to come more quickly this time, or maybe it was their perception since they were expecting it. They dodged into the shadow of a Tesla coil just in time, and the white-hot bolt struck the brass orb.

It didn't melt, explode, or otherwise cease existing. Instead, it glowed with a white light of its own, while sparks coruscated over its surface.

“So much for that!” said Patton. “Let's get back to Logan!” He started to get up, but Roman pulled him back.

“Wait! I think it's going to discharge.”

However, several moments passed without such an occurrence. The coil remained glowing like the sun and sparking like...well, like a Tesla coil. “Well...it didn't work anyway,” Patton said. “We'll have to try something else.”

Roman shook his head. “I don't think we will. This looks like...” He began snapping his fingers rapidly. “...I can't find the words for it, but we  _want_ this! Keep at it!”

“But Logan said—”

“I know! Just trust me! Come on!”

They moved away from the radiant coil and immediately had to dodge a swooping attack from the Vampire Lord. Patton jumped gracelessly to one side, but Roman ducked and rolled and came up with a sword thrust. He barely grazed the vampire, who avoided further harm by becoming the swarm again. The bats clustered disorientingly around Roman and Patton.

“Protect your neck!” Patton cried, ducking his head into his shoulders. The flurry lasted for only a moment, and then the bats winged aloft again and began to circle.

The battle followed that rough pattern for the next few rounds. The cyclone produced the lightning, which Roman and Patton managed to lure to one of the Tesla coils, and then the Vampire Lord would try two or three quick attacks before generating another cyclone. The attacks themselves varied—sometimes he would swoop down as the gargoyle and lash out with his claws, other times he would harry them as bats, and on one alarming occasion, he expanded his cloak to cover them in a pall of complete darkness and turned into a cloud of caustic smoke. But they made progress each time—the charged Tesla coils didn't fade; on the contrary, they seemed to create a feedback loop with each other. By the time four out of the six had been struck, they were flaring back and forth at each other, glowing brighter with each exchange.

That was the point where Logan emerged from under the table, looking rather indignant. “What are you two  _doing_ ? This was not the plan!”

“We're adapting the plan!” Roman explained. “The lightning isn't affecting the coils the way we hoped, but it's sure doing _something_! If we can charge the last two, I bet we'll have the Vampire Lord right where we want him!”

“Or _he'll_ have _us_ right where he wants us! Has it not occurred to you to wonder why he's being so accommodating of this 'adapted' plan?”

Roman clammed up, taken aback. His eyes darted around as though searching for a comeback.

“Let's get back to a sheltered location before something disastrous happens,” Logan said.

“I think Roman's right!” Patton blurted. “I mean...it _feels_ like he's right. Logan...you're really good at puzzles, and really smart in general, but Roman knows how _adventures_ work. He knows how to beat bad guys. I trust him.”

Logan glanced up, where the Vampire Lord's bats were just starting to create another cyclone. “I have to admit,” he said carefully, “I do not currently have a contingency plan. Apparently you do. All right, let's see where this leads.”

He unshouldered his crossbow...and at that moment, the bats rushed back together, the cyclone closed up with a minor shockwave, and the Vampire Lord dive-bombed Logan. It wasn't quite as brutal as the attack he had landed on Roman, but it was bad enough—he flattened Logan to the stones of the arena. The impact drove the air from his lungs and his crossbow went skittering away, landing out of sight somewhere in the cluttered scenery.

The Vampire Lord took off again, leaving Logan gasping like a fish. The other two hurried to him.

“You're okay, Logan!” Patton exclaimed, helping him sit up and rubbing his back vigorously to calm his spasming lungs. “You just got the wind knocked out of you; you're okay!”

“...yeah...” Logan wheezed.

“I'll go find your crossbow while you catch your breath,” Roman offered.

“...n-no...” Logan said, pointing up. The bats were circling again.

“Welp,” Patton said. He and Roman helped Logan to his feet, and the three made it close to one of the two remaining uncharged coils just in time. Then there was only _one_ uncharged coil, and the other five _really_ started going crazy. Sparks arced not just between the orbs, but along the entire length of the coils, coming threateningly close to the Sides.

And the Vampire Lord had immediately launched another cyclone maneuver.

“Now we _do_ need to find my crossbow,” Logan said, still panting slightly. “He attacked me as soon as he saw it, ensured that it was no longer in my possession, and then resumed his former activities. Obviously, it is key to defeating him.”

“You are _so smart_!” Patton bubbled.

“What's our strategy?” asked Roman.

“Patton and I will search. You are the best able to fend off the Vampire Lord's attacks in the meantime.”

“I think it landed over that way,” Roman said, nodding toward a large defunct machine of some kind. “You two go first and I'll cover you.”

They made their way to the spot, and Roman took up a guarding position, sword drawn but not raised, while the other two started inspecting the derelict heap of rusted metal and weathered wood. Patton got down on his belly to peer underneath it, using his staff as a flashlight of all things.

“I think I see it!” he announced. “Yeah, it's slid way in there. I can't quite reach it! Any chance we could tip this thing up a smidge?”

“It is large, but not prohibitively so,” said Logan. “Application of leverage should do the trick.” He set his shoulder against the thing, braced his feet against the flagstones, and pushed, and the device obligingly tilted a few inches. Patton shifted, reaching harder.

“Uh...guys?” said Roman, looking up at the bats and the cyclone. “I hate to be a nag, but you might want to consider...hurrying? We're exposed here, and those clouds are starting to spark.”

“I've almost got it! My fingertips brushed it! Logan, can you give me maybe another half-inch?”

“I can certainly try!”

“ _Guys!_ It's about to blow!”

“I can't drop this while Patton is under th— _Roman!_ ”

Roman suddenly broke and ran, holding his sword aloft as he made for the last uncharged Tesla coil. The activity in the clouds appeared to follow him, and the bolt began to come down, aiming straight at the upraised blade...

...which had been Roman's plan, as he dropped into a baserunner's slide in order to reach the foot of the coil in time. At the last possible split-instant, he lowered his arm, and the lightning dove into the orb instead.

“ _Got it!_ ” Patton crowed, shimmying out from under the machine. Logan gratefully let it settle back into place, took the crossbow from Patton, and let himself relax in relief for just a few seconds.

“We did it!” Roman called out, sprinting back toward them. “Look!”

All six coils were charged, and the orbs were going  _crazy_ , spitting sparks with ever-increasing intensity, but  _not_ at random—there was a very definite pattern. Each one was arcing electricity to its counter-clockwise neighbor, and the discharges were becoming both more frequent and more synchronous. Soon they were pulsing in perfect unison, several times per second, and the luminosity of the coils was spreading, and the Vampire Lord was hovering overhead in gargoyle form,  _cackling..._

“He's laughing at us,” Patton said. “That can't be good!”

“Logan...figure out what you need to shoot before these things go off!”

“I'm _thinking_!” Logan raised his crossbow, aiming at a few of the orbs in turn, looking for some clue, something exceptional about just _one_ of them that might indicate it was the one to hit.

The nasty laughter above them trailed off into a fierce growl. Logan whipped his gaze upward to see the Vampire Lord just starting to dive toward him again...and beyond him, the boiling clouds. Seized by a sudden hunch, he loosed an electric bolt at the monster.

The Vampire Lord burst into the swarm, effectively dodging it.

The crackling bolt continued into the clouds.

The clouds discharged their lightning, which split into six forks, striking all six Tesla coils simultaneously.

The entire upper half of the arena was transformed into a scathingly bright web of electrical arcs, seemingly anchored by the coils and held in tension. Tongues and tendrils of electricity leapt out on all sides, skittering over the various metallic constructs and dissipating back into the air.

And the bats comprising the Vampire Lord were caught in the middle of it all.

The display lasted only a second or two, and then bats came tumbling out of the air—mostly intact and still twitching, but several had been reduced to drifts of ash on the wind. The remaining ones rushed together, and the Vampire Lord re-materialized, crouched miserably on the ground, singed and crumbling around the edges. Great rents were torn in his clothing and, sometimes visible underneath, in his actual body, where the disintegrated bats should have gone. He whined piteously.

The Sides moved to box him in. Roman made eye contact with him and held it, showily applying the last of the ultraviolet enhancement to his sword. The Vampire Lord hissed and shrank away from him only to flinch back in the opposite direction when he realized that Logan was there, with another bolt trained on him.

“It's over, fiend,” Roman said grimly.

There came a weak cough from one side of the arena, and a hoarse voice spoke. “Guys...little help?”

“ _Virge!_ ” Patton exclaimed. “You're back with us!”

In that instant of distraction, the Vampire Lord made his move, bursting into a cloud of ashy smoke that flowed straight for where Virgil was still bound to the platform. Amid shouts of protest, including his own, Patton grabbed at the swirling fog as it passed, and the Vampire Lord's weakness must have been hampering his transformation, because the fatherly Side's fingers found purchase in  _something_ , and he was dragged along.

The Vampire Lord arrived at Virgil's location and pulled himself back together, to the latter's horrified cry of alarm. He twisted Virgil's head and held it roughly against the surface, bared his fangs, and leaned in to bite—and was yanked back again by Patton, who had immediately sprung to his feet and grabbed the villain's collar.

“ _You keep your fangs off my KIDDO!_ ” he bellowed, driving his other fist right into the monster's face.

As the other two came running up, Patton let the Vampire Lord drop at his feet and stood back a step, rubbing his hand. “Roman...” he said in a tired-sounding voice, “...you're up.” Then he turned away and joined Logan, who was already at work freeing Virgil from the shackles and straps.

Roman didn't say a word. He stood over the wilting form of the Vampire Lord, raised his sword, and brought it down on the enemy's neck, activating the light burst in the same moment. The head tumbled away from the body as silver flames began to consume both pieces.

And that was the end of the Vampire Lord.

 


	15. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sides tackle the Tower of Souls (or one of them does, anyway)...and a new surprise player enters the game!

It was all over but the clean-up.

As soon as he was fully unbuckled, Virgil slid off the platform and all but collapsed into Patton's arms, trembling. “I'm sorry,” he muttered over and over. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry...”

“I've gotcha, kiddo,” Patton murmured back, pulling him close, but not holding too tight—he had just been restrained, after all. “The big nasty is gone and you're safe.”

“You needn't apologize, Virgil,” Logan added. “No one blames you for having been forcibly denied your autonomy.”

Roman, meanwhile, watched in (rare) silence as the silver flames devoured the remains of the Vampire Lord. He wasn't taking the chance of anything rising to fight again. As the last of the fiend boiled away and the flames died back to silver embers, something small, deep red, and glossy remained. He investigated and found it to be a jewel, possibly a garnet or a carbuncle, though it sat much heavier in his hand than any of the well-known precious gems.

The remnants of the silver flames were sinking into the ground and spreading, becoming pools of soft, familiar light. The Tower of Blood was beginning to shake. “Uh...guys?” Roman said.

Logan was the only one to glance over. “Ah, yes. We've completed this stage of the game. Virgil, are you able to walk?”

“Yeah. I'm good.”

They clustered together, and the light flared around them just as the masonry began to crumble.

They emerged, as before, at ground level, a stone's throw from the collapsing tower. “We should keep our distance,” Logan observed. “This is likely to be...messy.”

Plumes of blood were already spouting up from the moat as large chunks of the tower dropped into it. Screaming gargoyles fluttered around the upper reaches, dodging debris, and one by one their luck ran out and they plummeted under the weight of tons of cracking stone. Patton hid his face out of mixed pity and disgust. At last, only a few shattered stones remained, protruding from the moat like bloody teeth.

“Look at the bright side,” Roman said after an awkward moment. “There's only one tower left.”

“Not quite...” said Virgil.

“ _Fine._ One tower and then the final boss.”

“The Tower of Souls,” Virgil said grimly.

In theory, the courtyard was a perfect square with the four towers at the corners. But as they set out for that last tower, it seemed to take them an unnaturally long time to reach it, as if the space were stretching out as they traversed it. Moreover, no minor enemies harassed them on the way—no undead rats or black slimes or flytrap plants. In fact, they saw a few _dead_ flytraps, gray and rigid and shriveled like the last dregs of a bad autumn. The strands of mist that drifted constantly through the courtyard seemed grimier than before, and _sticky_ , somehow. There was a disconcerting heaviness to the air, a chill that had nothing to do with the mist.

“I don't like this,” Patton said in a tight voice, pulling his cloak close around himself.

“Chin up, Padre, we'll be done before you know it!”

“Assumes facts not in evidence,” Logan grumbled.

They hadn't gone much further when Patton pulled up short and let out a gut-wrenching sob. His staff clattered to the ground as he doubled over, face buried in his hands.

“Patton!” Virgil exclaimed. “What's wr **ong?** ”

“I-I-I d-don't _know_!” Patton wailed. “I just suddenly feel so _bad_!”

“Something is affecting him...” Logan said a trifle uncertainly.

“Brilliant deduction, Holmes!” Roman snapped.

“ **Don't just stand there; we have to fix this!** ”

Patton's hands moved from front to sides, covering his ears. “ _Please_ don't fight!” he moaned. “I can't stand it!”

Logan moved to stand in front of Patton. He raised a hand as though to touch the other Side, but pulled back, fingers twitching awkwardly. “Patton...can't you tell us _anything_ about what is upsetting you?”

Patton pressed his lips together hard and shook his head violently—so violently that his entire upper body twisted from side to side, making his cloak flap...and that's when Virgil saw it.

A shred of mist was clinging to Patton's cloak, all but invisible against the soft gray fabric. His frantic movement had neither shaken it off nor dissipated it. “ **Patton, don't move!** ” Virgil commanded, lashing out with his Ghost Knife. It struck home, and the tiny scrap of fog faded away with a faint, shrill keening sound.

“It was a ghost!” Roman said.

Patton immediately calmed down, his tears tapering off. “I feel a lot better now,” he said sheepishly, and hiccuped.

“In the game,” Roman continued, “ghosts feed on life force. Because they don't have any of their own, right? They're dead.”

“'Life force' is another incredibly flawed concept with no scientific merit,” Logan said. “However, in the context of a fantasy setting, it sounds quite dangerous. Patton, are you sure you are unharmed?”

“Nothing hurts, so...yes?”

“Life force isn't just physical, you know...it plays a lot into someone's mental and emotional resilience too,” Roman said. “ _That_ ghost was much too tiny and weak to hit Patton any deeper than that.”

“And Patton is already very sensitive by nature,” Logan said. “So it didn't take much for him to be affected at a severe level by the unpleasant atmosphere of this area. Thank you, Roman, for giving me the information I needed to understand.”

Roman blinked. “You're welcome.”

“Guys...” Virgil said. The reverb was gone from his voice but he still sounded tense. “...those things are _everywhere_.” He pointed, and they looked, and like a magic-eye image, the creeping gray mist resolved into the forms of countless drifting spirits. Now that they knew what they were actually looking at, they could make out the vague suggestions of wailing faces in the haze.

Virgil swallowed and set his jaw. “I'll take the lead. I've got the best weapon for dealing with them.”

They resumed, carefully, with Virgil at the head of the party, slashing at any ghost that drew too near. Even so, occasionally one would brush close enough to darken someone's mood, just for an instant or two. They weren't identically affected, of course—Logan suffered a moment of intense, bitter annoyance when a ghost got too near, while Roman felt a lurch of deep insecurity and Patton of course experienced the same throbbing, nameless grief from the first incident.

Virgil, wielding the Ghost Knife, was targeted the least frequently, and in any case, the sharp pangs of fear visited upon him by the spirits were nothing he wasn't used to.

At some point, Patton discovered, quite by accident, that the ghosts also shied away from the glow of the Moon Orb. He and Virgil joined forces, and the party made it to the base of the Tower of Souls with no further trouble.

It was quite the bleakest of the four towers: a near-featureless column of gray stone, tapering slightly as it rose into an opaque, ghost-infused fog some stories up. A half-rotted door hung loosely from one corroded hinge, allowing frigid, sterile-smelling air to trickle out of the opening.

Nothing barred their way, nothing challenged them, nothing came roaring out of the tower to attack. “Careful...” Virgil said, eyes darting around. “It could be a trap.”

“More like a calculated insult,” Roman scoffed.

Virgil gave him a look that was half appreciative smile, half uncertain grimace, exhaled hard, and cautiously advanced toward the doorway, Ghost Knife at the ready. The others fell into step behind him.

It was _cold_ inside the tower, and...not exactly dark, but dim, and the meager light was wrong somehow. As their eyes adjusted, they discovered that it came from torches mounted to the interior wall, glowing with sickly purplish-green phosphorescence rather than flames. The silvery glow from Patton's staff seemed warm by comparison, though that might have been because of how clearly the torches showed the plumes of fog that the Sides' breathed in the chill. They instinctively clustered closer together.

The lights traced the path of a spiral, mirroring the course of a narrow staircase that wrapped around the inside of the tower. With the tapering shape of the edifice, it all gave the impression of being inside a colossal, hollow unicorn horn (if any unicorn could ever be so grim). And that was it—the lights, the stairs, the cold, and some scattered bits of wood, gravel, and similar debris.

“I guess we go up?” Patton said, squinting up into the gloom.

They investigated the foot of the stairs. They were about two feet wide altogether, and made of the same dull gray stone as the walls. There was a railing, mottled with hoarfrost and heavy, flaking rust.

“We will have to go single-file,” Logan observed.

Roman stepped onto the first stair. He stamped with one foot. “It seems sturdy enough.” He drew his sword and advanced onto the second.

The instant his second foot left the first stair…it dissolved, drifting away into the freezing air as gray mist. Startled by both the disappearance and the cries of alarm from the other three, Roman wobbled, lost his balance, and fell back off the step and onto his rear. “Ooowwww,” he groaned.

“Are you okay?” Patton asked?

“Not just okay, but A-okay, Padre!”

“Nothing about this is A-okay!” Virgil said. “How are we supposed to go up these stairs if they vanish?”

Logan was already calculating, drawing invisible lines in the air with his finger. “Unfortunately, there is no way for us to test the precise parameters of this phenomenon. Unless we were lucky enough to hit upon the precise solution right away, the _best_ -case scenario would be that we would lose too many lower steps to proceed at all.” He paused, cleared his throat, and adjusted his glasses. “I'm afraid one of us will have to ascend alone.”

They traded glances. Roman hopped to his feet. “What are princes for, am I right?”

“Traditionally,” Logan replied rapidly, as if on didactic auto-pilot, “princes are 'for' ensuring continuation of the ruling line, with titled couples endeavoring to produce at least two sons, known colloquially as 'an heir and a spare.' Additional sons beyond that were very often shunted into the military or clergy as a means of cementing the family's connections with powerful institutions.”

Roman stared at him for a long moment. “ _Wow,_ ” he finally said.

“As for whether you are right or not, I cannot determine that, as I do not know what you had in mind as an answer to the question.”

“Whatever,” Virgil cut in. “Princey's not going; I am.”

“You sound awfully sure of yourself,” Roman said, a bit bereft of thunder.

“I've got the anti-ghost weapon,” Virgil pointed out, brandishing it. “And besides...” He heaved a breath. “...what happened back there...with me and the Vampire Lord...I want to make it up to you guys.”

“Virge, it _wasn't_ your fault,” said Patton.

“But it still happened, and it made the fight a lot harder for you three. Let me make this one easier.”

“I just don't like the thought of you being all by yourself.”

“Patton,” said Logan, “it is an unalterable _fact_ that only one of us can make the ascent. There is no pragmatic reason why it should _not_ be Virgil, and at least one very good one why it should—namely, his possession of a weapon with the specific function of affecting ghosts.”

“There you go,” Virgil said, his voice breaking a tiny bit. “You can't argue with logic.”

“I argue with him all the time,” Roman said.

“Maybe you can get into some of that to keep busy. I'm gonna get going. The sooner I start, the sooner I'll finish.”

“You're not going anywhere without a hug!” Patton declared, throwing his arms around Virgil. “Be safe, kiddo,” he murmured.

“Priority Number One, Pop,” Virgil replied, returning the embrace. “You stay safe too, okay? Maybe build a little campfire or something.” He let go, turning toward the stairs.

“Don't I get a hug?” Roman said with a faux-pout.

“You get a fist-bump,” Virgil said, offering his knuckles. “Logan, you get finger-guns after I've gone up a few steps.”

“On which subject,” Logan said, stooping to gather a handful of gravelly stone fragments, “we will not retain visual contact with you for long in this poor lighting. Perhaps you could drop one of these over the railing every so often so that we know you are still...all right?”

“Awww, you do care, Teach,” Virgil said, accepting the rocks. He jumped up to what had been the second step and was now the first, and carefully moved up to the next. As expected, the other step vanished. Virgil climbed a couple more steps, getting used to the rhythm as they evaporated from under his rising feet, and then half-turned and delivered the promised finger-guns. He followed this up with his trademark two-finger salute before continuing on his way up the disappearing staircase.

 

` ~~~~~ `

 

Thomas aggressively clicked several times in a row, closing about eight browser tabs. “Enough is enough,” he told himself out loud. “No more GameFAQs for today.” He leaned back on the sofa and closed his eyes. “Guys? Especially Logan, maybe? I think I'm obsessed with this video game. Any ideas? Or advice? Stern lectures?”

He fell silent, waiting for the soft _whoosh_ that heralded the arrival of one or more of the Sides in his living room, but it didn't come. “Guys...?” Thomas repeated. Still nothing. He opened his eyes.

He just about slid right off the couch in shock, only it wasn't his couch, but a slab of stone, riddled with cracks and some sort of black moss or lichen. His living room wasn't his living room, but a huge open space of crumbling masonry and drifting fog, sprawling in all directions under a dismal sky. There was no chance he wouldn't have recognized it, not after the morning he'd had.

“Oh, I get it,” he said aloud, just for the comforting sound of a human voice. “I'm in the mindscape. This is what it looks like now. It figures.” He turned around slowly, peering through the haze in all directions. There didn't seem to be much in the way of _towers_ in this mental facsimile of _Stygia's Towers_. _Is it my save file?_ Thomas wondered. But as he continued to scan the horizon, he realized there was an important difference: _one_ tower still stood.

 _That's gotta be where they are,_ he decided. And even if he was wrong, it was a place to start.

He gathered his courage, reminded himself that he could return to his living room at any point, and set out.

 

` ~~~~~ `

 

It only got colder as Virgil climbed. He zipped up his hoodie, pulled the hood up and tightened it snugly over his ears, and silently wished he had taken Roman up on that offer for a new fantasy outfit, way back when the whole thing started. He was starting to see some ghosts too—weak little things like the ones they had encountered outside. They shied away from the Ghost Knife and didn't bother him.

After he had gone up about two stories, with the steps disappearing as soon as his feet left them, he came across a small landing and paused to catch his breath and drop the first stone.

Patton's voice floated up, already sounding unnaturally distant. “You okay up there, kiddo?” Pause. “Never mind, you don't have to answer that! You're doing great; keep it up!”

Despite his discomfort, Virgil cracked a lopsided smile. He rubbed his arms to warm them and glanced up at the spiral of stairs stretching away above him. There seemed to be more landings farther up, irregularly spaced and of various sizes. He wondered if there was any sense to the arrangement or if it was just random...but it probably didn't matter either way. Still hugging himself for warmth, Virgil continued.

The platform _didn't_ vanish as he stepped off it, which was...potentially useful, if the same applied to all of them. Maybe he could use them to get back down if necessary. Some fairly simple parkour moves should—

_Okay, that is the stupidest thought I have ever had in my entire existence. I don't know the first thing about how to do parkour! And I never will if I have any say in the matter!_

The next landing was larger, but that wasn't what Virgil noticed about it right away. What he noticed right away was the...torch...thing. He would have simply thought of it as a torch, full stop, a large one mounted in a wrought-iron stand in the center of the landing...but it bore a _black_ flame, somehow shedding darkness instead of light. Shadows squirmed over the surface of the stone, making oddly mesmeric patterns where they met the sickly light from the wall torches.

“Great,” Virgil muttered to himself. “Just great.” But there was no way to cross the landing without walking through the shadows...so he steeled himself, gripped the Ghost Knife that much harder, and strode forward. A strand of shadow reached for him and...

 

 _...the haircut is_ terrible _. There's no getting around that simple fact. Even Thomas's mother tries in vain not to pull a face when she sees the results. It's not the stylist's fault—she did exactly what Thomas asked for, but he chose a cut that didn't go well with his face shape and stubbornly resisted her advice, because he's thirteen and experimenting with asserting his own will._

 _The counter clerk apologizes for Thomas's dissatisfaction and offers his mother a coupon for five dollars off the next one, which she accepts. But that doesn't_ fix _the haircut, which is still terrible, and now Thomas is going to come back from spring break with a terrible haircut and all the other kids will laugh at him and throw wadded-up paper at him when the teacher's back is turned and maybe give him a cruel hair-related nickname, and no, there's no_ maybe _about it, they absolutely_ will _, and he'll never live it down and his social life is over and—_

 

Virgil lurched back to himself. His back was pressed against the tower wall and his face was pouring sweat despite the chill. _What the...heck was that?_ He had no time to wonder more, because that was when he noticed the ghost. It was _right_ in front of him, much bigger and more darkly shaded than any he had yet encountered, and it stared at him with blank hollows of eyes and reached toward him with fingers like the clouds on the leading edge of a storm.

“ **Get away!** ” Virgil commanded, lashing out wildly with the Ghost Knife. The blow landed, and as the spirit faded, it seemed to the Anxious Side that its head was crowned with the bad haircut from his vision.

And now that he had a moment to think, he realized that the vision was of course a memory, one from way back when he was first emerging as a Side of Thomas in his own right. Had the ghost caused the vision or was it just attracted by the feelings it triggered? Virgil glanced at the black torch, which seemed to have gone out. Suddenly he was freezing again, worse than before, as the adrenaline spike wore off and the ambient temperature stabbed his face through the beads of drying sweat.

Two more ghosts swept toward him from above, emitting whispery moans. Virgil slashed at one, ducked out of reach of the other, and ran for the stairs. The cold was beginning to make his knees ache.

The remaining ghost chased him all the way up to the next landing, where there was another black torch. Virgil, intent on escaping, blundered right into its shadow—

 

“ _My name is Virgil!” he spits out with barely a pause between the words. “Okay. It's like a Band-Aid. You just gotta rip it off.”_

_Well, that's that. It's out there now. No taking it back._

“ _Vir...gil?” Logan says slowly, rolling the name around in his mouth with a peculiar, vaguely unpleasant look on his face. Roman lets out a brief snicker._

“ _Oh!” says Patton. “But that doesn't end with an A-N or an O-N.”_

“ _Patton is right,” Logan says, adjusting his glasses. “The phonetic structure of your name indicates an unbridgeable gulf between you and the rest of us.”_

_Wait, what?_

“ _You said it, Teach,” says Roman. “Kinda makes you wonder why we bothered to go after him in the first place. What were we_ thinking _? He did us the favor of getting rid of himself and we didn't take it!”_

_But...this isn't what happened! They accepted him! His gamble actually paid off for once!_

“ _Now, Roman, you don't have to be cruel about it. It's nice to finally meet you, Virgil, but...hm...how to put this? I don't think this fam-ILY is going to work out.”_

“ _I concur. It will be best for Thomas if we maintain a relationship on the pseudo-professional level only.”_

_**This isn't what happened!** _

 

Something scraped against Virgil's back, jolting him back to the present time and place. _Three_ ghosts were bent over him, wearing vague suggestions of his fellow Sides' faces. Their mouths hung open in a grotesque parody of inhalation, drawing _something_ off of Virgil that appeared like faint streaks of heat-shimmer in the air. He was trembling violently, his muscles seizing on and off: it was so _cold_.

He wasn't leaning against the wall this time, but the rusty railing, which creaked ominously as he shifted his weight, threatening to give way. Virgil squeezed his eyes shut and swung wildly with his knife, trying to tap into a piece of his inner berserker without letting it take over. His movements only seemed to put more strain on the railing, and he wrenched himself away, _toward_ the ghosts, and ducked and bolted for the next stretch of stairs.

Only then did he discover how badly the chill was getting to him. He had lost both feeling and coordination in his feet, and he managed to totter up several steps but, inevitably, he stumbled on the edge of one of them and skidded, his feet starting to slide back out from under him, toward the void...

In desperation, Virgil planted a foot against a riser of the next step up and shoved. It wasn't exactly parkour, but it changed his trajectory so that he fell back onto the landing—not a serious distance to fall, though he smacked his head on the stones hard enough to see spots for a second or two. That was bad enough, on top of which, the ghosts were still there, wearing their borrowed faces.

The one with Patton's glasses and fringed cloak hovered over Virgil and, to his abject horror, two bleeding holes opened up on its shoulder. “...you didnt save me...” it whisper-moaned like a late-November breeze.

“But you came back...” Virgil gasped. “Your necklace was an extra life...”

“i didnt have the necklace...you were afraid of it...so I threw it away like you wanted...”

“ **No...** ” Virgil pled.

The other two ghosts drifted up on either side of the Patton-ghost, now sporting identical snake-fang wounds. Virgil could only sob with horror. It was like they knew exactly how to break him, somehow. And he seemed to have lost track of the Ghost Knife—not that he could properly wield it now anyway. He could barely feel his fingers.

There was only one last desperate move he could make, and he made it, gathering all his remaining shreds of strength to yank himself away from the ghosts in a clumsy side-roll. Too late, he realized his mistake—the motion brought him right up against the railing, and the impact was enough to finally snap the brittle, corroded metal. Virgil began to slide over the edge.

He scrambled, the fingers of one hand finding purchase in the frigid stone surface even as the rest of him slipped off the landing. It wasn't going to be anywhere near enough. His strength was gone. He wondered how much it would hurt to hit the ground...

And then a fourth ghost, one he hadn't noticed before, lunged for him...

 


End file.
